The sound of your voice
by marie0912
Summary: A boy with a passion lost moves away with his parents in a desperate attempt to cope with his deafness and meets a girl who speaks before she thinks. Forks is a place with dark secrets that slowly unveils, the kids hiding both past, present and future.
1. Chapter 1: December first

**Disclamier: I do not own Twilight. **

**No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2009 Marie0912. All rights reserved worldwide.**

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_"December first"_

The streetlight reflected each and every snowflake, making them gleam in beautiful colors that danced across his face.

It was raw, the ripping ache in his chest as he watched the falling snow.

He didn't allow his eyes to leave the window as each vibration tickled the soles of his feet, traveled up his skin, through his bones and followed the bleeding veins that lead to his heart.

Each beat, each different toned chord stung like a needle at the core of his being, making him flinch and shudder.

Wet salt trickled down the cheeks of his handsome face.

His mother's fingers pressed down on each ivory key with more force and determination the longer she played, getting lost in the music, in the melody, in the beat and the twang that the baby grand piano was able to produce.

But the ripping pain was soon too much for her son, the hollow in his chest widened.

The loss was almost a physical mark on his flawless skin and he could not fight the crippling agony any longer.

The longing in his heart was too strong.

He fell to the floor with a whimper that echoed in the empty corners of his heart, rattled his bones and all but broke his body.

The harsh thud of his flesh meeting the hardwood was brutal.

His knees bruised at the impact, his chin and elbows got scraped against the wood, but he only felt the pain in his heart, the vibrations in the floor and the beat of the piano, manipulated by the firm touch of his mother's secure fingers.

She was playing Christmas carols.

And that was where his father found him an hour later: crumpled and broken on the floor of his bedroom.

The hardwood had scrapes from the boy's fingernails in it. They were deep.

"Edward..." he whispered the pain in his voice evident, though impossible for his boy to hear.

He felt his father approach though, and in half daze got to his feet, stumbled and waved away Carlisle`s helping hand with an annoyed expression.

_"I am not a cripple," _he thought bitterly.

Edward went back to staring out the window, at the nothingness that surrounded their house in Forks, Washington with a glum expression and Carlisle joined him with a sigh.

He put his hand carefully on his son`s shoulder and just stood there with him, silent and unmoving.

He was despairing. Knowing of the boy`s pain and unable to do anything to take it away, because as a parent, there was nothing he wanted more than to take away his child`s suffering.

Esme, the boy`s mother and Carlisle`s spouse, adored Christmas and everything that it entailed.

Or she used to, anyway.

_But ever since... _

No, neither of them could even think about that day.

Ever since that day, celebrating anything had been hard and felt meaningless.

Carlisle and Esme found joy in each other, and the love they felt.

They rejoiced in life.

But they hurt when Edward hurt, and ever since that day, he had been hurting.

So, with tears in their eyes and down their cheeks, Edward and Carlisle watched the beauty of the falling snow while the father listened to his wife play "I`ll Be Home for Christmas", and the son felt the vibrations in his feet, each note a physical pain, a physical ache that ripped at the center of his being.

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**Marie0912**


	2. Chapter 2: December second

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2009 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**All my love goes to the wonderful Sydney, AKA: romanticvamp11 for her support and Beta work and critical eye and patience with my corrupting and crude mouth;)**

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_"December second"_

While Edward Cullen and his parents sat down and ate supper the evening of December 1st, it remained quiet around the table.

The mutual silence for once let them all be equal.

Each one of them lost in thoughts about him attending school the next day.

They had moved from Chicago to Forks just a week prior, hurriedly and without much preparation.

Edward`s father was a renowned surgeon and highly sought after. He could probably get a job just about anywhere in the country.

But ever since _that day _his priorities had changed. All of their priorities had changed, and Esme, the eternally passionate soul, made up her mind to start living life like there was no tomorrow.

The day that idea occurred to her, Carlisle came home from a double shift at the hospital. He was practically attacked at the door and shoved up against the wall since Esme was desperate to get her point across.

She ravaged him in the hallway.

They made plans impulsively while lying on the cold hardwood floor in the foyer, naked and exhausted, sated and sad and happy.

They were moving out of the big city to somewhere quiet and peaceful, somewhere where they could get to know each other again. Somewhere they could learn to appreciate the fragile thread that was life.

Life moved so fast in Chicago; everyone was in a rush and "saving time."

_How does one go about saving time? What do you do with it? You cannot very well put it in a jar and keep it._

So they would move away from Chicago, find a place where life and time moved slowly, and learn to appreciate it again.

And Edward needed a fresh start so desperately.

They uprooted themselves. Carlisle called the hospital in Forks and all but begged them for a job.

Edward would shrug when asked an opinion, not caring about a thing anymore and not really minding the move.

Esme and Carlisle were both convinced this was good: a new start for them all.

But they had not anticipated the grief Edward was suppressing.

Every night, he would get out of bed and sit down by his most cherished possession, letting his fingers press lightly against the keys at first, but every time he would be overcome with new frustration and press harder and harder, feeling the vibrations in his fingers and in the floor.

The sound waves would dance around him, echo from the walls and ceiling, but never, no matter how loud a noise he would try to make, were they possible for him to hear.

And eventually his mother would come down stairs with tears on her face, not upset with him for waking her up or angry with him for almost breaking a very expensive piece of furniture. No, she would be crying because her son was hurting so badly, and she was helpless to stop his pain.

He was going to be a concert pianist.

And now his only passion, his only love, it had been taken away. Music had been his life and now he could not even hear the roaring thunder at a close range.

He could hear nothing, but he could feel everything.

What he wouldn't give for the ability to feel nothing and hear everything?

*************

Starting a new school this late in the year was unusual, but not unheard of.

Forks High had a perfectly qualified teaching staff that would cope with their hearing impaired son and Carlisle and Esme were not worried about his education.

They were, however, worried about the friends he would make. Or not make.

He could quite easily end up a loner, and that was the last thing they wanted for their son.

So on December second, they made Edward attend his first day of school, only sixteen days before they let school out for the Christmas holiday.

In his own mind, he thought it was a waste of time and completely useless, but for them he would do just about anything.

He drove to school in his expensive, fancy Volvo, blasting music from his speakers and making it resound in the woods and open fields and mountains when he drove by, causing the car to quake, but still, though not the least bit surprising, not a single sound was audible

He drove into the school parking lot, watching the happy faces and the snow balls being thrown at unsuspecting targets.

He hadn't even realized he had stopped the car when a red, old and rusty Chevy crashed into him from behind.

The force of the blow sent him flying into his steering wheel, bumping his forehead.

He groaned in pain and annoyance, knowing the car was dented and that he was partly to blame.

But before he could start cursing the other driver or even think about getting out of the car, movements and blunt thumping on his window caught his attention.

He turned to his side and watched the driver of the opposite car shaking with rage, her beautiful, heart shaped face blushing with fury.

She was slamming a delicate hand against the window and cursing him.

He squinted at her lips with amusement, recognizing a foul word here and there, realizing she was cursing him to the deepest pits of hell.

But then she spoke a sentence that made his proud, composed face crack with pain and tears sting the corners of his eyes.

_"I honked and honked, you moron! What are you? Deaf?!"_ he read the words on her lips almost too easily, she spoke quickly but the phrase shaped with her mouth rung deafening in the silence of his world

And as his face fell, so did hers.

Because in that moment, her face flushing red with shame and embarrassment, she had realized why he reacted the way he did.

He was indeed deaf, and she had crashed his car.

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**Once again, love to my romanticvamp11! **

**And press review if you love Edward and Christmas Miracles as much as I do! =)**

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**Marie0912**


	3. Chapter 3: Today and tomorrow

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2009 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**All my love goes to the wonderful Sydney, AKA: romanticvamp11 for her support and Beta work and critical eye and patience with my corrupting and crude mouth;)**

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_"Today and tomorrow"_

She was kneeling on the floor by the window in her bedroom, calmly watching the snow- flakes falling and smiling at the sight.

No matter how lonely a soul she was, Isabella always found joy and beauty in the Christmas season.

The white flakes that covered the usually sloshy, green ground might be cold and uncomfortable on her bare skin, but they sure were a sight to behold.

They were magical and beautiful.

They covered and temporarily erased the imperfections the world had to offer.

If only everything else was as easily mended. . . . If only everything else was just as easy to make pretty. . . . If only she was as easy to make pretty.

She sighed and pushed herself up off the floor when she heard her father yell from down stairs.

"Coming, Dad," Isabella assured him in a tired voice as she made her way down the stairs.

Her mother was already sitting by the kitchen table, fidgeting with a napkin and trying to fold it into a swan.

Isabella smiled warmly at the sight of her mother frowning in concentration, mumbling curses under her breath whenever the soft paper refused to cooperate.

"So . . . I heard there is a new surgeon down at the hospital?" Renee tried to make conversation with her husband.

He grunted a confirmation while trying to chew the meat that his wife had prepared and wrinkling his nose at the taste. She said it was supposed to be beef of some kind, but neither Isabella nor Charlie could find it in themselves to agree.

"Well, he and his wife and their son moved here all the way from Chicago," Renee continued. "Have you had a chance to meet their boy yet, Bella? He is supposed to be about your age."

Isabella shook her head and shrugged with disinterest, "Nope."

"Oh, that's too bad . . . Maybe he will attend school before it closes during the holidays and you will be able to make friends with him? Maybe he is cute?" her mother suggested, causing her daughter to blush.

"Yeah," Isabella nodded, embarrassed, and got up to rinse her plate without looking at her mother.

She was eighteen years old now and had yet to have a boyfriend.

That night she went to bed early, re- reading _Little Women_ for lord knows what time. It was her comfort book, the one she relied on whenever she felt down or depressed. It always made her feel better.

She woke up later than she usually would on December 2nd, not really sure how she had managed not to hear the alarm and her mother's piercing voice as she sang at the top of her lungs in the shower. "It's Raining Men" usually had her alert and cringing in no time.

She rushed to the bathroom and made quick work of her hair, pulling a brush through it and leaving it loose around her shoulders. She brushed her teeth, washed her face and ran down the stairs, greeting and saying goodbye to her parents briefly before disappearing out the door.

She jumped into her old Chevy truck and stomped unwisely on the gas pedal, arriving in the parking lot of Forks High ten minutes earlier than she would have on any other day.

As she drove through the gate and tried to locate a vacant parking space, she saw, a second too late, a silver Volvo in the middle of the road, just sitting there.

She honked and honked, yelling at the driver to move out of the way, but whoever it was did not react in time.

She was too slow stepping on the old brakes. The truck skidded across the slippery, icy concrete and hit the car in front of her with force, sending the driver of the opposite car into his steering wheel.

Horrified, adrenaline and fear coursing through her veins, she tore the car door open, terrified that she had hurt the other driver.

Anger was irrational, but she couldn't help her reaction when she realized he was alive and well. The stranger was just sitting in the car before her!

She wondered if he did it on purpose, to irritate her or something like that, but it made no sense since the boy in the car was a complete stranger.

A beautiful stranger, she noted in spite of herself.

"I honked and honked, you moron!" Isabella screamed at him. He could have died yet he was currently sitting there laughing at her!

His eyes were squinted as he stared at her lips, smiling as he made out the profanities that escaped her mouth.

He was amused and she had been terrified!

"What are you? Deaf?!" she demanded sarcastically.

He was still squinting, but his smile was gone. And the humor in his eyes, the dancing little light in a pair of emerald greens, was replaced with hurt and brimming tears.

Her insult had made him cry.

And then she realized something even worse: the reason why he had tears in his eyes.

_He was actually deaf._

Shock, chagrin, humiliation and hurt were the expressions anyone could read on Isabella's face then.

"I am so sorry!" she tried to apologize.

She wanted to mend the damage done, to take away his pain.

But his teary eyes turned hateful and a scowl was visible before he used a universal sign anyone would understand, even if they didn't know American Sign Language.

He gave her the middle finger and stomped on the gas, wheeling away from her and into a vacant spot. He threw himself out of the car without another look in her direction and left Isabella alone in the parking lot.

As she watched his back retreat into the distance, all she wanted to do was cry too.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, but he was long since gone and could not see her, and obviously not hear her either.

She sighed and wiped a tear away, walking slowly back to her car. She pulled into a parking space far away from the silver Volvo. She was very late now, but she didn't care.

All she cared about was how she was going to make that beautiful stranger forgive her and how she could make it right.

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**Please review!**

**Marie0912**


	4. Chapter 4: What remains of the day

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2009 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**All my love goes to the wonderful Sydney, AKA: romanticvamp11 for her support and Beta work and critical eye and patience with my corrupting and crude mouth;)**

**Thanks and love to all who reviews, I adore you! **

**Christina D.N; I am so glad you love my stories;)**

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_"What remains of the day"_

Edward was fuming as he made his way to the main office, stomping the whole way to vent some frustration, but he soon felt guilty about the rude hand gesture the girl had earned in return for her comment.

She had tried to apologize. She had been ashamed when she realized that her statement was in fact true.

He pushed the door to the office open and stood face-to-face with an old lady. She had iron gray curls and a generous bust covered by frumpy clothes in shades of brown and red with an abstract floral pattern.

With a reluctant sigh, he walked over to where she was sitting. He placed the note from his father and some additional paperwork from his teachers and doctors back in Chicago in front of her.

She greeted him with a smile and Edward was able to make out her name, he thought, when she reached out her hand for him to shake and introduced herself before even looking at the papers in front of her.

It was Mrs. "Coop" or "Cope" or possibly "Cup". Edward didn't care.

"Edward Cullen," he said back, cringing when she winced at the volume of his voice. He still had to work on that.

She turned her attention to the papers in front of her then. She read them with polite interest until the information broke through her subconscious and caught up with her thoughts. It was almost comical, the way her eyes bugged out slightly, and her demeanor around him changed.

He sensed rather than saw the way she was mentally preparing herself for his "handicap." She was putting on her silk-gloves and in his mind, he hated her for it.

When she was done reading through the papers, she gave him a huge, sympathetic and slightly stiff smile. Her eyes looked weary, worried.

Edward only just barely suppressed the need to roll his eyes when she raised the volume of her voice and exaggerated her hand gestures as well as the movement of her mouth to get him to understand her.

Yes, the lip-reading was not something he had mastered completely yet, so it was nice of her, but he could see the strain in her throat and neck as she forced her vocal cords to project her voice louder. Seriously, what did she think? That it would somehow penetrate his dysfunctional ears if she screamed at him?

Eventually, she gave up the frantic waving and yelling, and wrote down what she was trying to communicate. There would be a student assigned to help him find his way around and walk him to classes from tomorrow on.

He gaped at her.

He was deaf, not blind!

He didn't need a seeing eye-dog! Or person, rather, but the point was the same.

She found his schedule and made him fill out some forms with contact information and things like that before she declared that he was free to go.

"Free to go?" he repeated and squinted at the piece of paper she had handed him with a list of classes.

"Aren't I supposed to be in class or something?"

She shook her head and hurriedly scribbled out, "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow, Mr. Cullen." A slight blush colored her cheeks as she yelled what she had written.

This time Edward really did roll his eyes. This meant that his teachers would be unprepared and that he would be sitting in class, trying to read the teachers' lips and a text book at the same time. Not productive at all.

He rushed out as soon as she had wished him a good day and slammed the door with slightly more force than necessary.

He once again stomped down the hallway and out the front door again, scowling at random people who were eyeing him with unwelcome interest.

He walked to his car and was about to open the front door when he noticed a note on his windshield.

He frowned in confusion and pried it loose, unfolding it with apprehension.

The note was written in tiny, feminine scrawl. It read:

_'Dear Dented Volvo Owner,_

_I am so sorry for insulting you and cursing at you, and even more sorry for denting your car._

_I will, of course, pay to have it repaired. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive my short temper and poor skills with the gas and breaks. _

_Truly sorry,_

_Isabella.'_

"_Isabella"_ he mouthed, smiling for the first time in days.

She was sorry, he already knew that, and had quite the temperament.

He had already forgiven her, but that note made his heart warm.

_She was one of the good ones_.

He drove home with the wet note folded neatly in his pocket, sent his father a text message to explain why he was not at school, and sat himself by the piano with a longing stare at the keys.

For hours, he would play and try to hear the sound, try to make out a note, but failing.

There were moments where he was sure he could hear something, sure he heard some of the melody, some sound. Every time it happened, he would repeat it and play harder, louder, but nothing audible came.

It was wishful thinking and just a figment of his imagination.

He retreated to his room and let the tears and grief consume him.

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**Please leave a review since they inspire and please me to no extent. **

**Marie0912**


	5. Chapter 5: Sorry

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2009 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**All my love goes to the wonderful Sydney, AKA: romanticvamp11 for her support and Beta work and critical eye and patience with my corrupting and crude mouth;)**

**Thanks and love to all who reviews, I adore you! **

**I am sorry for the delay, creative flow issues ;) **

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_"Sorry"_

A note in the windshield wouldn`t make it right. She knew that.

And yet she wrote it, hoping that it would make him smile and hate her less.

Her hand had been shaking and a shameful tear had slipped down her cheek as she scrawled the words down, the ink blurring and staining her fingers, wetted by the rain.

All day she felt on edge and worried, a guilty knot in the pit of her stomach as she hopelessly searched for the stranger among her co- students in the cafeteria, in every classroom she walked by, and finally in the parking-lot when the school let out.

Her eyes fell upon the empty space and she had to fight hard to choke back the pained sob that threatened to emerge from her throat and press through her lips.

He had left. How early had he left?

It was all her fault. She had made the boy so upset and sad that he had left. His first day!

_How could she have done such a thing? _She caught herself wondering with disdain.

She sat down in the rusty, old Chevy and made her way home with blurred sight, salty tears staining her cheeks and tee-shirt.

Both her mother and father were at work when she returned home, and after she completed her homework, she put on some Christmas- themed music and surfed the Internet.

She slept restlessly that night, her guilty conscience bothering her and dreams of car- crunching metal and angry tears fleeted through her mind.

"Isabella...?" the sound of her mother's voice startled her awake and she practically jumped up off the bed, confused as to why Renee was the one waking her.

It was usually the other way around.

"What time is it?" Isabella mumbled and rubbed her eyes with the back her hand.

"It's just after seven, sweetie. You almost overslept!" her mother declared with laughter. It was very unusual for Isabella to sleep late.

"Huh... Must have forgotten to set the alarm last night..." she figured and shook her head.

Her mother walked over to where Isabella was standing with a flustered expression on her face and kissed her lovingly on the forehead.

"I'll go make you a sandwich baby," she promised and left the room.

Bella stood like frozen to the floor for a moment, her head not quite catching up with things yet.

Her mother`s footsteps were audible as she descended the stairs, and so was the annoying dripping noise from the bathroom faucet.

She shifted her weight from her right foot to her left, hearing the wood creak beneath her.

The wind blew a powerful gust just as she looked out the window, she caught the movement of branches bending to natures force and heard the eerie sound as the air slipped through cracks and open spaces in the Swan house, making a howling noise.

Lastly, while Charlie, her dad, walked by her room whistling on "Christmas vacation", she let her gaze fall to the alarm clock on the nightstand, the one she had forgotten about setting.

She frowned and let her fingers slide carefully over the black plastic, a heavy weight settling in her stomach as her mind wandered to the stranger with the dented Volvo.

How did he get up in the morning? He could not very well set an alarm, could he? Maybe if it was one of those vibrating alarm- clocks? He would surely be able to feel the vibrations, wouldn`t he?

She thought back to the annoying tapping of the faucet in the bathroom, her father's whistling, the howling wind and the Christmas tunes she had played while reading last night.

How did he get by without those random, everyday sounds? How did he spend his days in complete, utter silence?

She frowned at the alarm- clock and bit her lip worriedly.

Well, if he had spent his entire life that way, if that was all he knew, silence, then... Maybe it wasn`t all that bad?

But if he did know what music sounded like... If he knew his mother`s voice and had heard the church bells and fireworks explode?

If he had heard the crackling of a newly lit fire, if he had heard the masterpiece that was The Lord of the Rings- soundtrack, then it had to be a loss so grave that it had to resemble physical pain.

Isabella loved music like it was a part of her, because, to some extent, it was.

And she loved learning new expressions, words, languages.

How would he learn? She was sure there was a way to, even for the deaf, but it would never be perfect.

What if he liked perfect?

Her heart ached even more now, and her stomach once again pinched uncomfortably, guilt washing over her like never before.

This stranger, whom she had yet to even have a conversation with, was probably hurting because of her.

Sighing, she walked over to her computer and turned it on. She got dressed while waiting for the ancient thing to start properly, and fell gracelessly to the ground when she attempted to put on her socks while standing up.

She scrambled up of the floor and sat in the office chair, rolling it closer to her desk and double clicked the mouse and typing information into the vacant column on Google`s main page.

The alternatives plopped up on the screen a few seconds later, and the picture of a man with a sad expression and his fist raised up in front of his chest appeared.

"Circular motion, clockwise... OK..."she breathed and shut the computer off. That would have to do for now.

She made her way down stairs and grabbed the sandwich her mother was holding out for her, a knowing smile on her face. Renee had an uncanny way of knowing her daughters state of mind only through observing her body language.

Isabella made sure to drive below the legal speed limit to school today, thinking one crash was enough for a while.

She parked the car carefully, as close to the exit as possible and got out of the car on unsteady legs.

She looked around when she found her balance and saw the silver colored Volvo close to the office building, the dent was smaller than it looked yesterday and she was thankful for that. But it was still there, the paint was chipped and damaged, and since the stranger could not appreciate the sounds life had to offer, he must be rather fond of the images and aesthetic beauty.

The least she could do was make sure his world was pretty.

She was about to walk to the main building and Trig when someone yelled her name. She turned and saw Mrs. Cope waving from the office building, snowflakes dancing in her hair.

"Miss Swan, come here for a minute!" she commanded and waved her over.

Isabella sighed, but complied and felt her stomach sink when she saw the beautiful boy from all her thoughts the last twenty-four hours, standing beside her with an annoyed look on his face.

Oh, no! Had he reported her for vandalism? Or maybe for her crude mouth and insults?

Her eyes welled with tears before she had a chance to control herself and Mrs. Cope frowned at her.

"What`s the matter, dear?" she demanded when Isabella was close enough to her to confirm that it was actual tears in her eyes.

"Oh! Uhm..." Isabella cleared her throat and looked from Mrs. Cope`s worried expression to the strangers face. He was frowning at her as well, his pretty mouth formed a worried, tight line and his eyes were stormy as they gazed upon her.

"I got something in my eye..." Bella lied and hastily wiped her tears, looking at Mrs. Cope and not at the stranger. His gaze was intense, green, and beautiful like the rest of him. His stare made her feel naked, under scrutiny, like he could see right through her.

"Isabella, this is Edward Cullen," Mrs. Cope informed her with a gesture between the two and a voice that was raised slightly above what was normal and polite.

Bella cringed when she realized the woman was raising her voice for the deaf boy`s benefit. It would have been almost laughable, if it wasn`t so damn tragic.

She opted to roll her eyes when Mrs. Cope was looking at Edward Cullen, waving a pre- scribbled note in his face with Isabella`s full name.

He averted his eyes from the note just in time to catch Isabella roll her eyes, and Isabella froze.

Terrified, she willed him to understand that she was not making fun of him or rolling her eyes at him, but at Mrs. Cope.

Edward frowned at her, looking slightly upset until Mrs. Cope turned to face Isabella again, practically screaming that Isabella was to spend the day guiding Edward Cullen through the school building.

The volume of Mrs. Cope`s voice made Isabella jump and cringe, and automatically, she rolled her eyes again.

This time, though, Edward caught her actions and put two and two together.

And he laughed. Loudly.

It was not completely carefree, but it was a happy sound.

Edward, she observed, had little control of the volume of his voice, and with that came to a sad conclusion:

He had not always been deaf.

It made her heart break.

He had known the sound of music, the sound of his mother's voice... But not anymore.

Now they were gone.

One tear slipped down her cheek at this realization, but she hid it fast.

He didn`t need her pity, he needed her help. He needed to fit in. And she would try to find him a place in this school, among their peers, because he already had a place in her heart.

Mrs. Cope left them then, making sure Isabella promised to walk him to all his classes and the cafeteria, and she was alone with The Dented Volvo Owner for the second time.

None of them did anything but stare for a moment, but Edward Cullen decided to break the tension by speaking.

"So... You`re gonna be my seeing eye-dog?" he asked playfully. His voice sounded more in control now, not as loud this time.

Isabella smiled softly, her heart melting with his crooked smile.

She nodded tentatively and Edward made a move to start walking when she put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

He frowned confused until she held up a finger, telling him to wait. She placed herself in front of him and closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again, looking into his green ones.

She made sure he paid attention as she fisted her hand in front of her chest and made a clock- wise, circular motion and mouthed "I am sorry".

His eyes flashed with something that looked like anger or maybe offence, but his expression changed rapidly again, and softened. It was an apology.

Another apology.

"I forgive you," Edward Cullen whispered gently and placed his palm over her fisted hand.

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**Please review... Because its the polite thing to do ;)**

**Love,**

**Marie0912**


	6. Chapter 6: Seeing eye dog

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2009 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**All my love goes to the wonderful Sydney, AKA: romanticvamp11 for her support and Beta work and critical eye and patience with my corrupting and crude mouth;)**

**Thanks and love to all who reviews, I adore you! **

**I am sorry for the delay, I suck. I am stupid when I attempt to write in the middle of the Christmas rush. Add to that the fact that Im writing in the perspective of a deaf boy and you get... angsty writers block. Sorry. ****  
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"Seeing eye dog"

They walked in silence. Isabella did not attempt to communicate and Edward was too caught up in his own thoughts and fears to acknowledge her.

The hallways were packed with students, boys and girls who ranged in age from late sixteen to eighteen years old. And, like most teenagers, they were rudely staring at him.

Edward assumed that they didn`t know about his disability yet, but they didn`t attempt to engage him in a conversation or speak directly to him, for which he was very relieved.

His eyes darted back and forth between the new faces, drinking in their features and storing them in his memory for later use.

Isabella was close to him while they walked, her shoulder sometimes brushing against his. Her body heat radiated off of her, and for some reason, soothed him. It was a lulling and calming feeling.

But the close proximity of her body also enabled him to feel every time she cringed or reacted to something that surrounded them. He would look in the direction her eyes traveled and would find styled, polished, pretty Barbie girls whispering.

He could make out random words when he looked at their glossed lips; words like "handsome" or "nerd" or "fuckable" and even the words "ugly" and "boring". Isabella would react negatively with each of those statements, and Edward had a feeling that some of those expressions were not directed at him, but at her.

Jealousy was thick in the air. The kids were just that: kids.

He found himself studying the girl beside him. The girl that had dented his car and come literally crashing into his life.

She was far from ugly or boring. Was she handsome though? He would never use the word "handsome" to describe a girl. She was pretty, beautiful even, in her own way. She had an unusual beauty about her. It was not the typical, mundane, modelesque perfection that most men fawned over. It was something natural about her face and features.

She had a heart-shaped, round and healthy looking face. It was pale, innocent and pure like the snow that was currently falling from the heavens. Her skin looked silky and soft to touch. The pooling of pink and scarlet in her cheeks made her even more appealing. He had no idea what she was thinking, had no way of hearing her voice, of knowing when she was happy or sad or sincere or lying through the sounds of she was making. But he could read every emotion off of her angelic face.

Her eyes were brown, not cloudy, empty or too dark. They were the color of almonds and chocolate, both brown in color, but somehow, the brown glowed.

Her nose was small and well- proportioned with her face. It wrinkled with annoyance or when she was amused.

And her lips. . . they were quite large, her bottom lip just a little more plump than her upper one. They were maroon in color, soft and inviting.

Suddenly she stopped walking and looked at him with a puzzled expression. He frowned back, but then blushed violently. Yes. Edward Cullen blushed.

It was only then that he realized he had been intently studying her unusual, yet beautiful face. Hard. He had stared at her, and Lord knows for how long.

At the sight of his embarrassment, Isabella cracked a shy smile and visibly giggled.

His mood was elevated by her light humor and he joined her.

When their eyes finally met, he repeated her actions from outside the office building and apologized, mouthing the word "sorry" while fisting his hand in front of his chest and making a circle.

She beamed at him, as if the gesture had a seal of promise to it.

And then it hit him. It did.

* * *

**Its short, but it gets us somewhere.  
Leave a review and tell me what you think. Do I portray Edward right?**

Marie0912


	7. Chapter 7: Wakeup call

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**I know I take time. Im sorry.**

**All my stories are being beta`ed by Romanticvamp11, this wonderful girl who puts up withmy crude mouth, scattery brain and complete and utter nonesense.  
She is a treasure and I keep her very close to my heart.  
You are incredible, Sydney. And I love you and adore you. Thank you.**

**Claud_c, you are absolutely wonderful.**

**_

* * *

_**

_"Wakeup Call"_

He turned in his sleep, fighting to stay unconscious and failing.

With a low groan he turned and looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand, finding it was only three in the morning.

Why was he suddenly wide awake at this hour?

He had been so exhausted when he went to bed, having spent a double shift at the hospital and barely even gotten around to sleep between patients.

As he turned around and fluffed his pillow to get the cold side to face up, his eyes fell on the body next to him.

He smiled, suddenly remembering why he was feeling so alert: his dream.

The memories of his unconscious thoughts were vague at best, but flashes were still available to him; her naked body, drenched in sweat, her back arched in pleasure and her mouth half open, mid- cry.

In an instant he was erect, his body responding the only way it knew how where her naked body was concerned.

She had a smile on her plump lips, as if dreaming something very pleasant, looking peaceful and content.

He suppressed the need to laugh when she hummed a tone-less melody under her breath and turned so she was lying on her back.

He had no restraint when it came to his desire for her, no self control, and could not resist her body when her nightgown rode up and exposed her pale thighs to the cold night and white moonlight that streamed through the bedroom window.

He rose to his knees and shuffled closer to her, hovering above her torso and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Are you dreaming of me, my love? Is that why you are smiling?"

His voice was suggestive and seductive, his smile devilish and not without intent.

She moaned in her sleep and whispered his name, trying to turn to her side again, where she would usually be facing his body, but was hindered by his knee, which he had conveniently placed between her spread and bare legs, holding her in place and stopping the motion.

She sighed, sounding annoyed and gave up, turning her head instead, and resumed breathing in and out in a steady rhythm.

"This was always your favorite way to be woken up, love. I wonder though, if you will appreciate the gesture at this hour," he snickered to himself and leaned down to kiss her lips.

She didn't reply, only licked her mouth when he was done with it, tasting him and smiling again.

He began trailing feather-light kisses down her front then, over her exposed collarbones and what he could access of her neck.

He could feel her pulse beneath his lips, tickling the skin of his mouth with its rapid vibrations.

He moved lower, her nightgown covering her breasts, but it did not stop him from paying attention to her nipples underneath the silky material.

He placed his lips around her left and blew hot air against it, while he trailed a light finger around her right nipple, and felt them both harden through his actions.

She squirmed slightly in her sleep, a low moan escaping her lips as she arched her back to him unintentionally.

He let his hands smooth down the material of her gown, the pressure so light that had she been awake to witness, it would have tickled mercilessly and made her laugh out loud.

But now, in her sleep, in her dreams the touch and tickle of his fingers on her skin, it felt different.

She only sighed at his touch, and raised her hips upwards automatically, brushing her sex against his thigh.

She felt feverishly warm, and he was slightly surprised, yet delighted when discovering the wetness there.

Even in her sleep she desired him.

Groaning again, this time a little louder than he had intended, he pressed his thigh against her harder, wanting to feel her.

She rocked her hips towards his leg automatically and he almost laughed, feeling so alive and so full of love and longing for the beauty that lay beneath him.

It was hard to believe that he could still be so in love with her after so many years had passed, but he still felt like it was only yesterday that she agreed to be his wife, that they had vowed eternal love and affection, and that he had slipped a gold band on her finger and sealed every promise he had ever made her with a kiss.

They had rushed out of their wedding reception, not even bothering to say a proper goodbye to their loved ones and ran to his brother's car, conveniently parked out front.

They drove to the airport and took a plane that led them straight to their icy destination, a secluded cabin in the mountains in the north, complete with snow and freezing temperatures. Why, one might wonder, had they chosen that place out of every single destination on this earth, out of all the warm, white, sunny beaches and luxurious hotels?

The answer lay in their faces as they entered the poorly heated cottage, breathing visible frost- smoke and shivering.

He made up the fireplace hastily and had her down on the rug in front of the fireplace before five minutes had passed.

With temperatures as low as that, they knew they would have to spend the whole honeymoon warming each other with body heat.

Hours were spent making love on that rug, until the fire died out.

And they would continue to the early hours of the morning in their bed, sweaty and breathless and utterly and completely in love.

The memories were fresh in his mind, his hands on her body now and the warmth of her brought him back to the present.

He scooted down on the bed until he was lying flat on his stomach, with his face just above her bellybutton.

He placed one large palm between each thigh and pushed them slightly apart. He then slid his hands further along her skin, pushing the silky gown up and leaving it crumpled around her waist.

He chanced a peak at her face before he placed his fingers under the lace of her panties and slipped them down off her effortlessly, and ever so slightly surprised that she still was asleep.

He pushed her thighs apart further even, holding one led in each palm and lifting them up, and leaned in towards her sex, breathing hot air against her and watched as she squirmed and rocked her hips.

She sighed as he gently, teasingly slipped his tongue along the slit of her lips, tasting her desire and flicking lightly against her clitoris.

She bucked a little and began stirring as he continued slowly, putting one of her legs back down on the mattress so he could push his fingers inside her and prepare her.

A low moan escaped her as the stimulation got to be too much, and he knew that she would be awake soon.

He rose back on his knees then, and situated himself close to her, took a hold of her hips and pulled her body towards him, piercing her with his erection slowly.

The sudden intrusion of his member made her gasp, her eyes fluttered open and he felt her spasm around him as she was caught by surprise.

"Carlisle!" she half moaned, half scolded, but he simply snickered under his breath and pulled out of her slowly, before suddenly and roughly pushing back in, making her thighs quiver and hearing a surprised scream escape her mouth.

He watched her lower half as he pushed himself in and out, felt her tightening around him and heard her breathing increase along with her moans. She was gripping at the sheets now, biting the pillow so not to scream and wake up their son.

He was unrelenting and eager in his rhythm, on the verge of release but refusing to let go until she did.

"Give it to me," he pleaded roughly, knowing she was close and saw the desperation in her face.

She needed something more now, just a little extra to shove her off the ledge.

He released her hip with his right hand, licked his thumb and pressed it to her clitoris, circling slowly, but insistently.

He watched with delight as she fell apart and felt her legs stiffen around him, her sex contracting tightly.

The sensations, the sounds, the sight before him was more erotic than any porn and he finally released within her with one final thrust.

Sweaty, panting, and very satisfied, he lowered himself so he was covering her body, his chest slipping slightly as it slid against the silky material of her gown.

"What was that for?" she whispered, lovingly stroking his hair and neck with a soft hand.

He smiled and kissed her shoulder before turning his head and whispering in her ear.

"I just had to have you," was all he could offer in explanation, but the words, his stubble grazing her cheek and neck, the hot, moist breath on her skin made her wet and wanton again.

"Anytime, anywhere. You know that, my love," she whispered and began nibbling his ear.

Snickering, he circled her waist with one arm and trailed his free hand down to the apex of her thighs, finding her sex and the new moisture with two fingers.

"Again?" he asked, half surprised and half exited.

She just nodded eagerly at him and fumbled under his body, finding him already half erect.

"Please," she pleaded unnecessarily.

With a low rumble of laughter, he shook his head and found himself between her legs again, ready for round two.

It was not until the early hours of the morning that they were sated, exhausted and ready for sleep to come.

Wrapped up in each others' arms they rested, peaceful dreams finding them.

This late-night activity was what left them in such a deep slumber that neither awoke to the loud noises, the screams or the sirens the next day, and only when smoke began obstructing their airways, did they finally reach consciousness.

The whole apartment complex was on fire, and they only had time to put on their robes before a firefighter broke down their door and ushered them out of their apartment.

"Is there anyone else in there?" a fireman inquired as they made it safely, though coughing smoke, down the hallway and to the first floor.

"No," Carlisle replied at once, knowing that Edward was supposed to be at school.

The fireman nodded his head and went back into the building, bravely searching for others while his colleagues worked the hoses and tried to put out the flames.

"We have to get down to the hospital, love. The smoke inhalation is dangerous," Carlisle mused and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

It was scratchy and sore. He feared what damage could have been done to their bodies as they had slept and inhaled the fumes.

While ushering Esme towards a waiting ambulance, he found his cell phone in his pocket, having remembered to grab it off of the nightstand before they ran for the door.

He scrolled down the list to find Edward's number, wanting to let him know what had happened.

But just as he pressed the call button and heard it start ringing, screams and yells for help sounded from behind him, and another firefighter came running out of their building, carrying a boy in his arms, his body shaking and coughing and screaming.

"Dad! Dad! Help!"

"Edward!" Esme yelled for her son and ran towards them as the fireman placed him on a cot.

He was covered in soot and coughing grayish saliva. Carlisle placed a calming hand on his son's forehead and stroked while trying to console him.

But it seemed that Edward was only further upset by his father's words, at first squinting at him in confusion and then panicking completely.

"Edward!" Esme was on the verge of hysteria as she waved for a paramedic. "Edward! Is he hurting, Carlisle? Is he hurt!?" she was crying, such agony in her that it was barely contained.

"No," Carlisle whispered, his voice silent as he realized what was wrong. "He is scared."

He looked up at his wife with a tortured expression.

"Esme, he can't hear us."

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**Thank you so much for reading!**

**My inspiration comes from all over the place, and its sometimes hard to keep focus.  
I hope you liked this chapter and the lemon;)**

**I kindly ask you to go read "In the arms of an Angel" - a One Shot I wrote for Anything goes under the mistletoe contest. It won 4th place and I am very proud and grateful.  
I have also written for An officer and a gentleman contest - its called "The price of a sacrifice" and is very good if I might say so myself.**

**I don't often rec fics because well... Im just a bitch that way I guess;) But I really want you to go try Mrs The King`s Crushed Seraphim, she is without a doubt the writer that inspires me the most, her way with words are absolutely breathtaking!**

**And with that I wrap it up, ask for a review and that you follow my sorry ass on twitter since I have alot of spambots and if I delete them, I just feel unpopular :P LOL!**

Until next time,  
Marie0912


	8. Chapter 8: Lunchtime

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.I know, it's been a while. I'm sorry.**

**The good news is that "The sound of your voice" is nominated in the Indie Twific Awards in the category "All human story that knocks you off your feet" alongside "A woman at war" in best action-drama and "The beat of a heart" for best use of a parent.**

**Thank you, endlessly much to those who have nominated!**

* * *

**"Lunchtime"**

Disability.

She hated that word.

Not because there wasn't another way to phrase it, though there probably was.

No, she couldn't stand that word simply because of how she knew it would sound and be pronounced on her classmates' lips. She dreaded the moment they discovered his weakness. The thought of what they would do when they finally learned made her tremble.

She knew first hand that they were not merciful and understanding.

So it was with dread she handed Mr. Dwyer the note from Mrs. Cope when they reached the Trigonometry classroom on the second floor. She watched as he predictably turned pale, his gusty face and stubble shaping a grimace as he took in Edward's appearance.

Edward had shut off completely.

He was standing beside her, his jeans loose around his too slim waist, the light blue tee shirt he was wearing clinging to his body. Bella noticed the collar was slightly darker in shade than the rest of the material and realized that he was sweating as a small tremor ran through him.

He lifted his eyes from the floor and met hers, wild panic filling them as he fisted his hands to prevent them from shaking.

"Hello, Mr. Cullen!" Mr. Dwyer said. Loudly.

Both Bella and Edward cringed as the entire classroom's attention turned to them.

"I will," he began gesturing very vividly to the desk that was right in front of the class, "place you where I can keep an eye on you."

He smiled and winked. Edward shuddered.

_Will he not have a teaching assistant?_ Bella thought to herself, finding it odd that he was to study without aid.

But the answers to such questions had to wait until later, she gave Edward a worried glance as Mr. Dwyer ushered her towards the door again and told her to get to class.

"Class, this is Edward Cullen from Chicago!" she heard behind her, once again too loudly. She shuddered as she walked down the hall.

The day dragged by slowly.

She walked him to all his classes like instructed, watching as his posture turned from rigid with purpose to defeated with each passing hour. He would rarely speak or try to communicate with her, simply smiling reassuringly once in a while when he managed to tear his eyes from the floor.

He had the attention of everyone he passed as she walked him to his last class before lunch. The whispers were deafening as the buzzing echoed through the hallways. They suspected now, some even knew, and the news spread throughout the school like fire in dry fields.

Edward was not oblivious to this, but he didn't speak.

When Jessica Stanly whispered the word "retarded," Bella snapped her head around and looked her straight in her cold, gray eyes. The girl recoiled a little at the sight of fire in Bella's eyes, but a sneer was in place as soon as Lauren caught glimpse of what was going on.

Lauren was the kind of girl that other girls instinctively avoided. The coldness in her irises, the set of her chin and the style of her hair was all the information one needed. She had Power Do - a hairstyle that was very popular among those who spent hours with a straightning iron, and no compassion. She was spoilt and bored and cruel for the fun of it.

Bella clamped her hand down around Edwards's wrist and pulled him along down the hall quicker; the need to get away was rather desperate. She didn't want him to face it yet, or maybe she just couldn't face it herself.

No matter the reason, she hauled him after her to English class and stood by him as she handed the note to Mrs. Gregory.

She smiled overly sweetly and gestured with her whole body.

It was tragicomic as Bella let go of Edward's hand and walked to French class.

The bell finally rung an hour later and Isabella gathered her things quickly, wanting to be quick when it came to collecting Edward so they didn't have to walk into a packed lunch hall and everyone staring at him. But when she arrived, the classroom was empty and she was informed that they had been excused early.

A sense of dread washed over her as she realized he was now walking the halls alone. He wasn't in any immediate danger, but it worried and unsettled her.

She hastily made her way to the lunch hall and looked around at the tables that had begun to fill. She saw Rosalie was sitting in her usual spot by the far window, the extremely large grey hoodie draped around her like a circus tent as she tried desperately not to be seen. Her tray was full, but she wasn't eating.

_Nothing unusual there_, she thought, but it still made Bella frown.

She had few friends, no one really close to her as she never allowed herself to depend on companionship to get through the day. She found she had little in common with her peers. Bella lived mostly in her head; it was how she preferred it. She daydreamed vividly, spoke to no one unless it was demanded or strictly necessary and kept to herself.

A ruckus caught her attention as she turned to her right, and she saw Maybe standing on a lunch table in the middle of the room, shaking her ass like she was starring in a Fifty Cent video.

Maybe, or Mary Alice Brandon as her parents had christened her, was the most popular girl in school. She was a notorious man eater. They called her Maybe because she was coy and vague and never gave a direct answer to anything. She loved to keep men on their toes and, although everyone liked to think they knew everything about her, the truth was that no one knew a thing.

But she loved the attention. Her petite frame and lush curves had both boys and girls drooling as she swung her hips and clicked her kitten heels. She was something else. That was for certain.

But what she was completely oblivious to was the boy in his far corner of the cafeteria.

Jasper Whitlock.

He was handsome, mysterious, sitting alone, dressed in all black and wore a scowl for everyone but her.

Isabella briefly caught the flash of pain in his eyes as Maybe blew Greg a kiss from across the room. She had no idea he even existed.

Bella realized soon that Edward wasn't there and turned around to go look for him by the bathrooms. But as she turned around, she recognized his tall, lean frame and hunched body language as he appeared in the doorway.

Everyone's eyes landed on him for a moment and the sound of whispers filled the air.

Suddenly, Emmett McCarty and Royce King, the two most popular football players on the school team, came through the doors.

Emmett was huge and looked threatening, and Royce was his match in every way. They were inconsiderate, talented, and loved practical jokes, but more than that, they were bullies.

Emmett was juggling a snowball in his hand. He eyed Edward's hunched back and defeated body language from where he stood, just a few feet behind him. He saw easy prey, grinned cruelly and yelled "Yo! Duck, limp dick!" before he threw the ball right at Edward's head.

But of course Edward didn't hear him, (not that he would have had the time to react anyway) and got a snowball square in the head.

"OW!" he screamed, probably more shocked than in pain as Bella rushed towards Emmett like a furious leopard.

He caught sight of her a minute too late and found himself pummeled to the ground by her small frame.

She had pushed him to the ground.

The entire hall had gone silent now, sharp intakes of breath as they watched the absurd scene before them. Maybe had even stepped down from the table, Jasper had stopped scowling and Rosalie was chewing on the string of her hoodie, fidgeting nervously as Bella stood over the bully she had attacked with raised fists.

"Come on, fucker!" she screamed, tears in her eyes and voice; she had been on the receiving end of bullies before. "Why not take on someone who dares looking you in the eye?"

Emmett McCarty hadn't quite caught up with himself yet, stunned into silence by her brutal shove. Edward came rushing towards her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her backward.

"NO, Bella! He's too strong!" Edward said, but his unsteady and loud voice carried like a scream across the room.

"I can't let him hurt you!" he boomed.

Emmett stared at Edward with shock and anger. He got up slowly off of the floor and walked toward him with measured steps.

"Don't fucking scream at me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, provoked.

No one knew that he was in fact angry about Edward insinuating that he would ever hit a girl.

Edward frowned at Emmett's lips, trying to understand what had been said to him, but couldn't catch the words since Emmett spoke so fast and through clenched teeth, his lips barely moving.

"What?" Edward yelled, too nervous to think about the volume of his voice, but Emmett assumed he was intentionally provoking him.

And he could have none of that shit. He was the motherfucking king of high school. His word was law and no one defied him unless they challenged him, trying to overturn his power.

So he did what he always did when someone sassed with him: he punched him square in the face.

Some people cheered, other people gasped. Edward fell to the floor as Royce had to bend over, gasping for air as he tried not to laugh so hard.

But Isabella launched herself at Emmett McCarty with all the force she could muster, striking at his hard chest with clenched fists and tears and screams of pain for Edward.

"You cruel motherfucker! You son of a bitch! You evil fucking bastard! He's deaf, Emmett! He's deaf!" she screeched at him, her entire body shaking.

In that moment, everyone went silent.

Edward's secret was revealed as he lay on the floor, too shocked to get up yet, his head spinning. Bella was panting, heaving for breath and took in Emmett's expression.

He was pale as a ghost. "What?" he whispered, his eyes drifting to the confused boy he had introduced to his fist.

As realization hit him, as Bella knelt on the floor to help Edward to his feet, a girl in a gray hoodie walked by Emmett with tears in her eyes as well.

"I knew you were cruel Emmett, but even I didn't think you were capable of this," Rosalie whispered softly.

* * *

**The 28****th**** of February MrsTheKing has set in motion "Thank you to our readers", this is a project where we hope to show our gratitude towards you by updating every active story by that date (yes, I know I'm in trouble here) and I have decided to try.  
It is a wonderful initiative, if you are a writer, please go to her blog spot and sign on.**

**Now, if you are up for it, SV&DS – a new fic of mine is ready for reading. But be warned: this is graphic citrus and not for you to read unless you are over the age of 18.**

**  
As for those who has asked to translate this story, the answer is no.  
I have not even translated it into my own mother tongue because of the poetic flow issues, and will certainly not allow it translated into a language I don't speak fluently myself.  
I have seen too many authors lose creative control to this fuckery and lost my favorite story because of this.  
**

**Now that my little rant is over; thank you so much for reading and reviewing!  
I have sucked ass at replying but promise to do better, and believe me when I say I cherish every single one.**

All my love; marie0912


	9. Chapter 9: Bells

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). ****All rights reserved worldwide.****Sydney, you are a irreplacable and simply wonderful Beta, thank you so much!**

**And thank you so much to those who have reviewed, recommended and added this story to favorites and alerts.**

**I update again today for you.**

**Reviews are addictive and make me write faster;)**

* * *

"**Bells"**

Edward had felt like the ground was about to give in beneath him all day, but the moment he found himself in contact with the cold linoleum floor, everything shook at its foundations.

He watched as Bella screamed and pounded at his attacker, the heated rage radiating off of her as she trembled in anger that was verging on hysteria. But that was not the reason he was momentarily paralyzed. Edward could hardly get a grasp of his body or his motor skills, every single rational thought escaping him as his body shivered in fear.

The force of the guy's fist had his head ringing and aching terribly.

His head was ringing.

Sound. A ringing sound?

The muscled boy with brown curls and a mean right hook shifted his attention from Bella's flying fists to Edward on the floor, the color draining from his face.

A girl in a large, gray hoodie with tears in her eyes walked past him. In spite of his haze he saw her tearful, ocean blue irises gaze down upon him with pain. They shifted towards Edward's attacker swiftly, and new tears trickled down her face when she gazed upon the muscular boy who spoke with his fists.

He saw her mouth move gently, though what she said was probably only meant for the boys ears, spoken in what looked like an agonized whisper. Edward recognized the word "cruel" on her lips.

Bella knelt down beside him and began helping him to his feet.

He accepted her hand willingly, for once not minding the support, and scrambled to his feet with some difficulty. He watched her face contort in pain as her eyes flickered around the room, the fear in them as she kept returning to his face and the biting of her lip as her cheeks tainted red.

It could have been embarrassment but Edward already knew it was in shame.

He had been unable to read her lips as she was pounding at his attacker's chest, but he was certain that her passionate speech had revealed his secret. Not that there were many who didn't already suspect something.

"Are you alright?" she mouthed, looking fearful as she tried to pull him out the door.

Edward hesitated before he replied, looking around the room, watching each face with some amount of regret. The ringing was gone, his world was silent again.

"Yes, just fine," he tried to whisper, but his throat had constricted again.

He had heard sound. In his head, no doubt, but there had been sound.

The burly boy with cruel fists and a horribly pale face began walking after them, his face looking determined and hopeful and absolutely horrified. Edward wasn't sure what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to hit him again, maybe strike Isabella to avenge the humiliation of having to withstand her attack in such a public setting, or maybe, just maybe he wanted to apologize for his actions?

But he couldn't wait and see. He wouldn't wait and see. He had just lost sound all over again and inside, he was breaking down. He would not allow the bully to think he had reduced Edward to tears.

Grabbing Isabella around the wrist, he pulled her after him and towards the exit.

He pushed the door open and let go of her hand, turning to look at her face. She was breathing heavily, her eyes fearful and panicked as they met his.

"Will you be alright? I have to go," he choked out, his voice constricted with unshed tears.

Her eyes widened in shock.

Edward was crying.

"Do you need a doctor? Oh my God! Are you hurt badly? Edward!" she whimpered, but Edward barely caught a word, too distracted by his desperate efforts not to cry.

"I have to go," Edward managed to force out.

Bella's legs nearly gave out as she realized he was in too much pain to stay. She had caused this, she and her big mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to just blurt it out!" she sobbed at his retreating form, but he was already halfway towards his car, whipping out his phone and dialing his father's cell phone number.

"Dad…" she heard his voice breaking. "I'm coming home. Please … Please be home," he begged and hung up, knowing full well that he would have to wait for a written reply.

He leapt into the front seat after nearly ripping the door off its hinges, put the Volvo in reverse and sped out of the parking lot without a second glance in Bella's direction.

It was all her fault.

She stood completely motionless for a few minutes, the cold snow falling steadily around her. It soaked her thin clothes as the snowflakes melted when they came in contact with the warmth of her body.

She heard the snow slosh as footsteps approached her from behind. Usually, Bella would have spun around to see who it was, but in that moment she was lost to her own despair and couldn't find the will to care.

"Did he … Where did he go?" Emmett asked in a voice so soft, it was nearly a whisper.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Bella seethed, her voice low and dangerous.

She didn't even turn to look at him as she spoke. The brawny, muscled Emmett cringed at the tone in her voice, but she would never know. Wringing his hands nervously, he tried to find the right words, making the mistake of thinking that Isabella was actually interested in hearing what he had to say.

She wiped a tear off her cheek and began walking back towards the school building, hoping that it would somehow take her mind off of Edward's pain. She knew better, but still she hoped.

"Umm … hey, where are you going?" His hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder. But as soon as his right hand came in contact with her, she spun around and slapped him hard in the face.

It was an instinctual reaction, she hadn't even thought about it.

His dimpled cheek heated pink as her palm met his face, and he stared at her with wide eyes.

"You don't get to touch me with the hand that hurt him! Stay the fuck away from him, Emmett! Just stay the fuck away!" she seethed and proceeded to walk away.

"But…" Emmett tried to talk sense into her.

She spun around once again, and this time the fire in her eyes could be tasted in the air around them.

"No. You love causing damage, Emmett. You love causing pain. I haven't forgotten my fourteenth birthday yet! You hurt people, you bully them and you sow fear in them! You love the control it gives you. Don't even start! You struck a handicapped boy, you cruel piece of shit! Nothing will ever make that right! Though I doubt you really care," she hissed, and this time she didn't stop walking. "And let's not even start talking about what you did to Rosie," she added cruelly, without turning back. She didn't need to see his cold indifference.

But had Isabella turned to look, she would have seen something that Emmett hadn't shared with anyone in years.

Vulnerability.

"_No, let's not start talking about what I did to Rosie,"_ he whispered under his breath, a faraway look in his eyes.

When Bella entered the school building, she walked to the office and found Mrs. Cope so she could explain everything. The woman worked herself into a fit, wanting to call his parents, but Bella assured her it was unnecessary since Edward had obviously called his father before he drove home.

As Bella walked through the hallways, making her way to biology class at a steady pace, she pondered the relief in Mrs. Cope's face when she felt convinced she didn't have to inform Edward's parents of anything. Such relief when responsibilities are lifted off one's shoulders, when you don't have to stand up and speak.

The easy way out.

She also thought about Emmett McCarty.

He was the perfect example of irresponsible and uncaring. How would he fare when he turned eighteen this December, graduating in spring and finally having to learn that you can't throw a punch when things doesn't go your way.

She had a feeling he would end up behind bars.

And as she sat down at her desk in Mr. Banner's class and looked to her right, where she had thought Edward would sit beside her since it was the only class they had together, she decided that the thought of Emmett in jail didn't bother her one bit.

As Mr. Banner called the class to attention, a silver Volvo pulled into the driveway at the Cullen's home.

Edward climbed out and saw his father's Mercedes come rushing up the driveway just a moment later. Carlisle shut off the engine and pushed the car door open with brutal force, nearly slipping on the slick ice as he made his way towards his son whose facial features portrayed nothing but pain and anxiety.

The moment he wrapped his arms around his boy in a fierce hug, Edward broke apart. His knees would no longer support him, his entire body shaking, and Carlisle started crying too, as Edward screamed in agony.

"What happened? What's wrong? What happened?" Carlisle begged to know.

Edward felt the vibrations as his father spoke, the rumbling in his chest powerful and the desperation tangible in the freezing air around them.

"Sound! I heard sound! He hit me and I heard sound! Ringing! I heard bells!"

Edward clung to his father's embrace more tightly, knowing as the words left his lips that it had all been a figment of his imagination, that his world was as silent now as it had been when he left bed this morning. If anything, all he had achieved was a head injury thanks to the giant bully's punch.

"You heard sounds in your head?" Carlisle sighed to himself, feeling the tears of pain well up, but then another realization hit him.

He pushed Edward away so they could look at each other and saw a darkening bruise form around his left eye and cheek.

"Who the hell struck you, son?" he demanded, placing his thumb on Edward's face, just shy of the injury.

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**Thank you for reading, please leave a review if your want to=)**

**Marie0912**


	10. Chapter 10: Captain Morgan

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Sydney, you are a irreplaceable and simply wonderful Beta, thank you so much!**

**And thank you so much to those who have reviewed, recommended and added this story to favorites and alerts.**

A special thanks goes to MrsTheKing who writes crude poetry and compelling stories that keeps you at the edge of your seat, either cringing from sheer disgust or shivering with delight (depending on which of her stories you are reading, they are all epic in their own way;). She has faith in this, and that is more humbling than you can begin to imagine.

**My writing is inspired by her. Not a published author, not an old, baggy English poet. Her. **

**Now this update is all your fault for flooding my inbox with reviews! Holly hell! THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH! Unbelievable!**

**I have done my best to respond to everyone, but when I open a review on my ipod, I cant reply and then later I forget and blah blah blah…! No excuse, I will do better, I promise!**

**My beta has told me to put a warning on this chapter, since it contains violence and may be offensive/ disturbing. Be prepared.**

* * *

**"_Captain Morgan."_**

Carlisle Cullen could do little but gape at the brutal bruise and knuckle marks on Edward's cheek. His boy hissed in pain when he put pressure on his cheekbone and probed the skin around his eye."I'm serious, Edward. Who did this?" he demanded as he grasped his son's face between his gentle yet firm hands.

He stared into Edward's irises, a peculiar color that changed with his mood and the lighting around him. They were green, though a circle around the iris was a reddish, mahogany brown. When angry, they would turn pitch black and frightening. When sad, they would become a deep moss green, and when happy they were a mixture of olive and brown.

But when lying, or when afraid, his eyes would close.

Carlisle found his cell phone and typed his question in a text message, holding it up for Edward to read and watching his face to see if he revealed anything.

But, like expected, Edward simply shook his head.

Carlisle growled under his breath and scrolled down his contact list, finding Esme's number and pressed the call button. She picked up on the third ring, sounding out of breath.

"Hello, darling! I'm just at the supermarket right now. Do you need something?" she asked affectionately.

"Someone struck him, Esme. Edward. Someone hit him, and he won't tell me anything. I need to take him down to the hospital and get an x-ray. His cheekbone is tender and I'm worried about the socket around the eye. Someone has a mean right hook, that is for certain," Carlisle informed.

"What? Someone struck him?!" Esme's voice was high-pitched and verging on hysterical.

"Yes. Now, it's nothing serious, I don't think, just know that we might be a while," Carlisle soothed in his most calm and gentle voice; the same one that he used to coo to Edward with when he was a baby. That memory stung at his heart.

He hung up on his wife and typed what Edward needed to know into his phone again. The boy tried to object, insisting loudly that he was just fine and that an icepack would do, but Carlisle would have none of it.

Father and son drove in silence. Carlisle refused to put music on in the car for his own pleasure when his boy would be denied. He never knew, but this affectionate sacrifice hurt Edward to the depth of his being.

As they reached the hospital and parked in the private parking lot reserved for the staff, Isabella was headed home.

Her day hadn't improved much over the last hours and all she wanted to do was go to bed and forget. But she knew she couldn't. She had to know Edward was alright first.

So when she got home, Bella found and dialed his home number, hoping to reach a parent.

It picked up, and a woman's voice sounded through the speaker, her voice pleasant and gentle in its cadence and flow.

"Cullen residence, Esme speaking."

Giggling slightly at the formality of her introduction, Bella replied.

"Hello Mrs. Cullen, this is Isabella Swan calling," she said with a warm familiarity in her voice. She was slightly confused about how she felt so at ease with the stranger on the other end of the line. She was not a people person, nor did she like strangers.

This was very disarming.

"Well, hello dear! How can I help you?" Esme Cullen asked gently.

"Actually, I'm…" Bella sighed. "I'm calling about Edward … your son? He got hurt today at school and he was so upset when he left that I was unable to make sure that he was alright and…"

She took a deep breath and stopped her rambling, feeling her voice crossing the line between inquisitive and slightly desperate sounding.

"You were there? Who hit him?" Esme demanded quickly, without soothing Isabella's fears.

"Yes, I was. His name is Emmett McCarty," Bella told her in a gentle voice.

"Emmett McCarty," Esme repeated with pure anger. "Why?"

"Because he's a bully."  
It was a simple fact. There was no need to sugar coat it or make up excuses, no need to describe the situation or in any way try to justify it. Emmett was a bully. Emmett had hit Edward because that's just what he does.

"Right," Esme answered, sounding far away judging by the tone of her voice and Isabella could tell she was plotting something and it gave her immense satisfaction.

At least someone would do something.

"Well, my husband has taken him to the emergency room for an x-ray just to be sure, but he seems fine. Thank you so much for your concern, young lady. I am very glad you called and inquired about Edward and I will let him know that you were concerned. Now if you will excuse me, I have some business to take care of."

"Yes, of course. Have a good evening, Mrs. Cullen," Isabella said hastily and hung up.

Esme stood for a couple of minutes, holding the wireless house phone in her hand, contemplating. At this age, she believed that children should fight their own battles unless something serious bloomed between them. That was probably what Edward would have wanted. It was probably why he denied his parents the information about who hit him and why.

But as her eyes drifted over to the baby grand piano that stood proudly in the middle of their living room, she was brutally reminded of the fact that Edward was no longer a normal, average eighteen year old boy. In the eyes of society he was an adult, but the traumatic events of recent past had made him dependant on others again, something that Edward had never liked being in the first place.

She thought about what Isabella Swan had said. The boy was a bully.

Esme made up her mind. She would help her son, no matter if he needed it or not.

She called the school's main office and demanded the phone number to Emmett McCarty's home.

Mrs. Cope was not surprised to hear from the family it seemed, and gave it up without any arguments, hoping that Esme wouldn't demand they acted as well. And Esme didn't. As soon as she was off the phone with the ignorant school secretary, she dialed the home number she had been given.

It rang a couple of times before a man picked up the phone.

"Yeah?" It sounded more like a grunt than a greeting.

"Hello, this is Esme Cullen speaking, have I reached the McCarty residence?" Esme asked politely.

"Yeah," the unpleasant voice replied once more.

"Are you by any chance Emmett McCarty?" Esme asked, hoping the answer was no. She wanted to speak to his parents.

"No, I'm the fucker's father. What has he done?" Mr. McCarty asked in a nonchalant tone.

"Well, as a matter of fact, he struck my son at school today, Mr. McCarty. My son is currently getting x-rays," Esme informed him, clenching her fists in anger as she waited for his reply.

"Well, boys will be boys, Mrs. Cullen," the man replied, with clear indifference.

For just a moment, she allowed herself to pity the man's son. He was clearly not father of the year, but Emmett had marked her son. That could not be forgotten.

"Yes, I am sure you think so, Mr. McCarty, but your boy and my boy are from two very different worlds. One does not simply strike another, and on top of that unprovoked from what I have been lead to understand. My boy is deaf, Mr. McCarty, and even though your child finds satisfaction in beating on the handicapped, society and our laws tend to frown upon it. Now I will give you a chance to talk to him yourself, or I can let the police do it," Esme told him calmly. "So what will it be?"

It went quiet on the other line for a few minutes, and then Mr. McCarty finally decided that it was polite to respond.

"Fine, I'll talk to him. He won't do it again," he said with seething finality in his voice that made Esme shudder and hang up abruptly.

As Esme pondered the conversation she had just had, she worried about the neglect that Emmett might be suffering. She couldn't help herself, it was inevitable. She cared, no matter how cruel a child acted. She knew it was nurture and not nature`s fault.

Edward and Carlisle entered the foyer half an hour later. Her son had an icepack over his injured eye and Carlisle had take out. They were smiling, in spite of the day's events and Esme found joy in the fact that Edward had found something to be glad about today.

As they sat down to eat, twilight was upon Forks and a mist spread through town.

Emmett McCarty drove his battered old minivan up the driveway to his house while the Cullens ate in silence and Edward used one hand to bring the fork to his mouth while the other supported the cooling compress on his bruise.

As he turned off the ignition and locked the door, David McCarty walked out the front door to greet him.

"Hello, son," he said, his voice low and angry.

Emmett flinched.

David McCarty cleared his throat and spat a loogie on the porch. He lifted the bottle of Captain Morgan to his lips and drained it before throwing it onto the floor, watching it shatter with satisfaction and then started walking towards his boy.

"I got an interesting phone call today," Mr. McCarty said and cracked his knuckles. "A lady says you punched her handicapped son."

He raised an eyebrow at Emmett and waited for a reply.

Realization dawned on him then. Edward Cullen's mother had called.

His stomach plunged and his nerves stood on end, the weed in his system doing nothing to calm him now.

"Answer me, boy!" David McCarty boomed, making Emmett flinch and nod hastily.

"It was a misunderstanding, dad. It was a mistake! I didn't know that he was deaf, I swear, I—"

But he was interrupted abruptly as David McCarty swung his fist through the air and came in contact with Emmett's stomach. It knocked the air out of him instantly and the father watched with malicious glee as his son fell to his knees, heaving for breath.

Emmett was now in convenient level with his father's knees and not a moment later, one of them shot up and hit Emmett square in the nose.

It broke with a sickening crack, blinding him. David McCarty proceeded with strikes and kicks until the boy would need his mother's help to stand later on.

Blood dyed the earth red, screams of agony and prayers of mercy filled the air. Cruel, satisfied grunts came from his father every time a blow caused a particularly nasty yelp of pain. Finally, David McCarty unbuckled his belt and pulled it loose from his pants, wrapping the buckled end around his fist and started lashing the boy.

Emmett had been punished, but Esme would never forgive herself if she found out.

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**So, yeah… If you are still breathing and with me, leave a review;) You know where it gets you.**

**Though please don't get used to the everyday updates, because this will not be possible in the long run.  
The greatest inspiration is your feedback, keep it coming!**

**All my love, some crude snarkiness and Norwegian typos,**

**Marie0912**


	11. Chapter 11: Caring

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Sydney, you are a irreplaceable and simply wonderful Beta, thank you so much!**

**And thank you so much to those who have reviewed, recommended and added this story to favorites and alerts.**

**Once again, the fast update is your fault! Keep recommending, keep reading, keep reviewing! I have never felt this inspired!  
You are absolutely lovely sweet people!**

**Play list for those interested:  
Just Hold Me – Maria Mena  
Miss you love – Maria Mena  
The book of love – Peter Gabriel  
Evenstar – The lord of the rings, two towers soundtrack.  
Embrace me – Karen Jo Fields  
Sin Miedo A nada – Alex Umbago**

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"**Caring"**

The dark enveloped Forks, Washington and wrapped it in fog. It muffled cries of pain from various bedrooms.

Emmett McCarty was lying immobile on his bed, wheezing through his broken nose and wincing every time he tried to move. Tears stung his eyes, the salty liquid threatening to spill over. He squinted hard against them, refusing to shed tears.

He wouldn't cry. He didn't deserve to cry.

A couple of miles from his house, a woman lay sobbing into her pillow.

Edward had locked the door to his bedroom and asked to be left alone.

Esme heard him fretfully push the play button on the CD player, playing with the volume button, groaning and growling in frustration. It was as if part of him still thought that the reason no sound came was because the electronic device was broken. His frustrated grief and refusal to come to grips with it was causing Esme pain she never thought it was possible to feel.

Carlisle had gone back to the hospital to retrieve some documents and finish some paperwork since he had left so abruptly when Edward had called him. It was probably better that he didn't see her grief. It was already too much for him to bear Edward's pain.

He called her around midnight though, and asked if she minded that he pulled an all-nighter.

"No, that's fine dear. Don't worry. I'll be alright on my own," she promised him.

He hung up the phone reluctantly, hearing the tears in her voice, knowing she was lying.

But just as Esme thought she was protecting Carlisle, Carlisle thought he was protecting her by leaving her to her grief. He only ever wanted what was best for her and would have given her the world if she had asked for it.

So he didn't come home.

Carlisle buried himself in paperwork, the dim office light hurting his aging eyes, but he was too consumed to bother turning on the lights.

Isabella slept fretfully, tossing in her bed, tangled in her sheets. She screamed Edward's name through the night, keeping her father awake.

Usually Charlie would have found this amusing, her daughter yelling a boy's name in her sleep, but tonight it was anything but funny. The tone of her voice, the desperate, pained scream, indicated that it was not happy dreams she was experiencing.

He wanted to go wake her up, to tell her everything was alright. He wanted to console her and comfort her. But as he wringed his hands and stared at her bedroom door, he felt even more ill equipped to handle the situation, to be enough for her, than he had felt when Renee had placed her newborn body in his arms eighteen years ago.

So he remained outside her door, his palms open against the hard wood, just listening and sharing in her pain.

He would ask her in the morning, he promised himself.

A few blocks away, Rosalie was ridding herself of the meal she had just consumed, throwing up in the toilet bowl.

She whimpered in pain as she finally rose from her bent position and had to grab hold of the door frame to avoid fainting as sudden dizziness came over her. She trotted fretfully down the hall to her bedroom and closed the door behind her slowly, sighing.

The sound echoed through the empty hall and silence followed, filling every void corner, each room and her very soul. Everything felt like it took effort, her sanity challenged daily by the desire to just remain sleeping and never wake up again. She just didn't see a reason to go on anymore.

Regretfully she unzipped her gray hoodie and left it on the floor.

She found some coconut body butter on her desk and began rubbing it on her skin, snorting a little in disgust as she realized she was still vain enough to care about what her body looked like. Her skin soaked up the moisture, the faint smell lingering in the room and on her body. It was a comforting scent.

She crawled under the covers and shut off the light, welcoming the darkness and dreams of faraway places.

The clock slowly reached three in the morning. The mist had dissipated some and the roads cleared so it was possible to drive without risking your life in the process.

At the McCarty residence, Emmett was begging his mother to take him to the hospital. His wheezing had gotten worse by the hour and his chest ached painfully, more so than the rest of his body.

He was starting to fear for his life, and no matter how much he hated it, he did not want to die yet.

But as his desperate pleas drowned in pained whimpers, his mother simply shook her head. She knew that if she defied Emmett's father, the next one with a broken nose was her and she was not willing to sacrifice that for her son.

She had never wanted him in the first place.

She sent him off to bed with two pain killers and a glass of water.

"Take it like a man!" she said and slammed the door in his battered face.

He swallowed the pills with effort, his throat constricting with the need to shed tears and this time he had no fight left. He crumpled on the floor and reached for his cell phone, dialing the only one he knew would bother to pick up for him.

"What the hell do you want Emmett?" Maybe sighed through the speaker. She didn't want to talk to him right now.

"Mary Alice!" Emmett wheezed; the blood gathering thick in his mouth and blending with saliva.

"Shit!" Maybe whispered, knowing that if Emmett bothered to use her actual name and not an insult, it was serious. "What did he do?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

She was the only one who knew. The only one who understood. And she was probably the only one Emmett felt certain would never tell a soul.

"I need to go to the hospital Mary Alice. Right now," he choked and once again his voice was overcome with tears. "I think something is very wrong. I can't breathe. I—" Emmett`s voice broke and was replaced by a wrenching sob of agony.

"I'll come pick you up. Get to the end of the driveway so your dad doesn't wake up," she instructed and hung up.

Maybe never asked for details, and from Emmett, she never asked a thing. Period. They had a connection, a bond forged in darkness. It was strong, unbreakable, covered in acid and pain.

Neither wanted each others' familiarity, neither wanted each others' friendship, but they both kept secrets and protected each other.

They never acknowledged each other at school. No one knew.

But it was safer that way.

His bedroom was thankfully on the first floor. He crawled out the window, silent in spite of the need to whimper in pain with each movement, and managed to make his way down the driveway.

Maybe sat waiting in her beat up old Sedan, her face on the road and not watching Emmett as he limped to the passenger side of the car. He opened with a whimper of pain as he strained something in his bruised right arm and hissed as he sank down on the seat beside her.

Maybe was clad in flannel pajama pants and a thick wool coat, slippers on her feet and no makeup on her face for a change. There was no point, she thought, in hiding her blemishes from Emmett McCarty. He had already seen her at her worst.

She put the car in reverse and backed up a bit before setting pace towards Port Angeles.

"Where are you going?" Emmett wheezed.

She snapped her head in his direction, her eyes empty and cold. Indifferent.

It didn't hurt Emmett's feelings, her cold and uncaring manners where his battered face was concerned. He didn't deserve her pity.

"What do you mean? Port Angeles Hospital, where we always go…" She frowned and hit the light switch, illuminating the small compartment so she could get a look at him.

"Christ! Never mind, you will have to lie then," she concluded and switched the light off again.

Both knew that he couldn't take over half an hour in the car and God knows how long in the waiting room. Emmett nodded gratefully and remained silent through the rest of the drive, his thoughts self loathing and regretful.

Mary Alice's eyes flashed back and forth between the road and his face constantly through the ten minutes that passed before they reached Forks Hospital, feigning frosty indifference the entire way.

No, she refused to care. If he thought she didn't, maybe she would manage not to. Eventually.

She parked and got out of the car with a silent sigh, shutting the door and walking over to his side. She supported his weight with her small body.

"Thanks," he whispered as they made their way towards the entrance, reaching the nurses' station.

Kate Denali, the nurse on call, whimpered under her breath as soon as she caught sight of them and didn't wait for an explanation before paging Doctor Cullen. He was strictly speaking not on call, but he was the best, and that limping boy definitely both needed and deserved the best.

It was not until after Kate had handed Mary Alice the forms that needed to be filled out that she recognized Emmett, realizing who he was.

The beating had destroyed his features.

She walked back to her post with regret in her heart. It was not the first time that Emmett McCarty had showed up on her shift looking like he had been run over by a truck. She had her suspicions, of course, but never did anything. To take action meant to care. She didn't want him on her busy mind.

Doctor Cullen came five minutes later, his handsome face concerned and warm in its features, a pair of reading glasses rimmed in black on his nose and his lips shaping into a frown.

"What happened? Holly sh---" He stopped himself before uttering the word out loud. "Can you walk? Come with me boy!" Carlisle commanded, but when he saw the effort it took him to rise out of his seat, Doctor Cullen ran over and found a wheel chair in the corner and helped him sit.

He led Emmett into an examination room and half an hour later to surgery. There were four broken rips. One of them had punctured his lung, leaving it on the verge of collapse. On top of that, his nose needed resetting.

Carlisle was not unfamiliar with signs of child abuse. The welts and bruises on the boy's skin from where the belt had left its bite did not go unnoticed.

He decided against calling his next of kin and instead walked out into the waiting room to let Maybe know that Emmett was recovering, finding the girl broken and sobbing into her tee shirt.

She had let herself care. Again. And for that, she hated Emmett.

Carlisle consoled her in silence, and at seven in the morning, when the rest of Forks' population began waking up from their sleep, Emmett came out of the anesthetic induced sleep, finding his room empty.

Mary Alice had left and a woman from Child Protective Services walked through the door an hour later.

Carlisle was about to leave the hospital, well earned and absolutely exhausted when a blond girl in a huge, gray hoodie came stumbling through the door.

"Get me a gurney!" Carlisle instructed as he barely caught the girl before she fell to the cold floor.

She screamed in pain, her young, innocent face ghostly white and contorted with agony.

A nurse arrived with the gurney as requested and another came to help lift Rosalie Lillian Hale onto it.

She whimpered as Doctor Cullen started feeling her erratic pulse and shone light in her eyes to see her pupils contract and dilate.

"Where does it hurt, miss?" Carlisle asked gently, his eyes brimming with tears, moved like he always was when pain was near and preventable.

She sobbed and shook her head.

"I don't want it, I don't want it…" she hiccupped.

"Tell me where it hurts!" Carlisle was growing desperate as they wheeled her into an examination room..

"Unnghhhhh!"

She arched her back off the cot in pain and that was when Carlisle saw it.

The loose material of the gray hoodie flattened against her stomach and a mound of flesh rose from the rest of her slim body.

A very pregnant belly.

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**If you are still breathing, leave a review! You know where it gets you!**

**Marie0912**


	12. Chapter 12: Feeling Better

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Sydney, you are a irreplaceable and simply wonderful Beta, thank you so much!**

**And thank you so much to those who have reviewed, recommended and added this story to favorites and alerts.**

**I have officially turned into a review whore! Hahaha!**

**Thank you so much, please don't stop!**

**

* * *

**

**"Feeling better"**

Dawn was finally upon them all. Forks was blessed with a rare glimpse of the sun, as if some deity decided that its inhabitants needed the fresh light and new perspective. Some woke well rested, some woke from a fretful sleep that had been laced with scary dreams and figments of one's imagination.

Isabella stretched and yawned, feeling her head ache and dried salt on her cheeks from tears that had been shed in her sleep. She made her way to the bathroom and smiled as she passed her father, who looked like he had had a rough night himself.

When she came down stairs and joined her parents at the breakfast table, her mother cooked French toast with a smile on her face. Isabella sat down next to her father who was seemingly reading the paper.

Charlie was nervously staring at the printed magazine, his leg bouncing up and down on the floor as he recalled her screams during the night. He wanted to ask about it, but now that the opportunity was there, he couldn't phrase it. It might have been nothing at all, she might have simply had a nightmare about a boy named Edward.

It was not like she didn't dream all the time, not like she didn't talk in her sleep constantly.

So he let it go and broke his promise in the process.

At the Cullen residence Edward was still fast asleep.

He had a very fancy alarm that was placed under his pillow at night. When it was time to get up, it vibrated and caused him to wake. But through the night he had slept fretfully and, in the process, pushed his pillow and the alarm clock down to the floor.

At eight o'clock, he was still asleep and his mother came to check on him.

She sighed as she walked through the door, seeing that the light was shining bright from the ceiling. He never turned off the light.

Esme sat on the side of his bed and dreaded what was coming.. Gentle as a feather, she placed a hand on his naked shoulder and shook.

The scream that pierced through the room and echoed in the silence of the house was dreadful.

"Calm down baby! Calm down!" Esme murmured against his hair, tears forming because she knew she had scared him witless. She hugged his shaking body to her own and felt him slowly relax against her chest, his breathing regulate.

It happened every time Edward was unable to wake on his own. The touch of another, the thought that anyone could sneak up on him undetected was something that was terrifying. But he smelled the scent of her perfume eventually and the fear subsided as the shock wore off.

He inhaled the comforting smell of her deeply, humiliated and ashamed of himself, feeling reduced to the helplessness of an infant again.

A moment passed and Edward eventually released his mother from his grip.

Esme looked at him and raised her right hand, spreading her fingers. Her open palm hovered over her chest as she bent her middle finger at the knuckle, keeping the digit straight as she ran it up her chest, toward her neck. She then brought her hand to her chin, brushing the fingertips across it as she curled the fingers in, resulting in a thumb up.

"Feel better?" was what she had asked.

Edward smiled at her effort and nodded.

His mother let a gentle finger trace the bruise around his swollen eye, finding it blacker today. She then left him to shower and dress in peace, going downstairs to make breakfast.

As Edward prepared for a day he would rather sleep through, a girl with dark brown hair and large, liquid brown eyes walked up the steps to the Cullen mansion, biting the nail on her right hand thumb anxiously. She rang the bell reluctantly and Esme came to the door not a minute later.

For a long moment, the two women stared at each other in silence. They measured each other up and down with careful frowns and hopeful hearts.

Esme knew it was Isabella Swan from the caring sweetness in her eyes, but the protective mama bear instinct that came natural to most mothers warned her to be wary. Isabella could hurt him deeply if he let himself care for the girl.

Isabella saw the skeptical reluctance in Esme's eyes though, sensed it in the air as if it had its own smell. She knew what Esme was worried about. She worried herself.

"Isabella?" Esme asked after a long moment.

"Yes," she whispered, letting Esme take her time and make up her mind.

"You are here to see him?" she finally said.

Isabella smiled hesitantly, showing her vulnerable insecurity.

"If you will let me…" she whispered, fearing that her voice would break from her wound up nerves if she raised it.

Esme was no longer afraid then and stepped aside to let the girl pass the threshold and officially enter their lives.

Edward came downstairs freshly showered and shaved, his eyes falling on the girl in the dining room. His eighteen-year-old body was trapped in silence, but when he caught sight of Isabella at the dinner table, his stomach fluttered as a strange, new sensation coursed through his veins. The warm tingle made his heart beat so fast and loud that the pulse kept a beautiful beat..

Like music.

The thought made him smile in amazement; he could almost recognize melodies in it. He had never thought of his heartbeat that way.

And more than that, she was what caused his heart to keep rhythm.

His heart kept fluttering in both even and unsteady beats as he slowly reached her, his breathing irregular.

Isabella didn't speak. Edward was breathing very fast and looked sort of pale to her eyes.

Was he upset that she had come?

But when he took a seat beside her, completely invading her personal space with his intrusive presence, she realized he wasn't upset with her at all.

Esme was lurking in the kitchen, busying herself with cooking her son and his guest breakfast, ignoring the clock as it ticked past eight thirty, knowing they were way beyond late. She would force neither to attend today. She had a feeling they knew what they were doing.

Esme cracked eggs and fried bacon, toasted bread and made French toast and pancakes, way too much for the three of them to consume, but unwilling to interrupt their silent conversation.

She peeked out and saw that Edward and Isabella had a notebook out. She was scribbling things on it that her son read with a genuine smile, and if she was not starting imagine things; a slight blush. He had his left hand on the table and his right in his lap, his posture relaxed but breathing irregular.

Edward's fingers were drumming at the table, his foot tapping.

She recognized those movements. Almost dropping the mixing bowl in shock, she realized what he was doing.

He was composing music.

Two hours later, an exhausted doctor walked through the front door of his house, expecting to find it cold and sad, the way he was used to. But as he passed the threshold and placed his jacket on the coat rack, untied the laces on his white hospital sneakers and placed them on the mat, he sensed a strange atmosphere in the air..

It was thick with home cooking, warm with affection and electrified with someone's excitement.

His feet moved slowly to the living room. He found two kids on the couch watching a historical drama with subtitles for the hearing impaired on the screen.

Edward was smiling.

Carlisle resisted the urge to fish out his cell phone and eternalize the image of his joy with a picture. The expression was so rarely seen these days that Carlisle had trouble believing it.

But he didn't.

Instead he took in his son's posture, the way his body leaned towards the girl sitting next to him; their subtle touches as fingers brushed against each other on the couch and the way her eyes kept flashing back and forth between him and the screen.

Esme found him like that ten minutes later, hypnotized by the view and the horrors of his shift at the hospital almost forgotten.

Almost.

At the sight of Esme, Rosalie's pleas and agonized sobbing came back to him full force.

Esme, his lover, his friend. Esme who had carried their son within her and loved him and nurtured and fed him.

"What`s the matter, lover?" she whispered in his ear as she wrapped her arms around his chest from behind, warming him, covering him.

Carlisle sighed and turned in her arms, facing her with a sad smile.

"Horrible, horrible night," he whispered in her hair, leaning his chin on her shoulder.

"You look so tired," Esme observed with concern.

"Exhausted," he confessed. "I had one surgery on a boy with severe injuries from domestic abuse and then a seventeen-year-old girl in preterm labor."

"Preterm labor?" Esme wanted to know. "She was pregnant?" her voice was high-pitched with concern.

"Yes. Twenty nine weeks. Contractions every ten minutes. It's a wonder she managed to drive to the hospital herself," he sighed.

"Oh my…"

"Yes. Another child in foster care if the girl doesn't change her mind about not keeping it," Carlisle sighed. "The baby needs to be hospitalized for a long while yet. Christ, he was so small! 2.22 lbs… "

"I'm sorry Carlisle," Esme whispered, kissing his neck softly and smelling him. "You need to sleep…"

"I know."

He didn't object, but didn't move either. He just stayed in her arms and inhaled deeply, like it was the first breath of fresh air he had had for a very long time.

"Then why aren't you moving?" Esme asked gently, watching Edward smile.

Carlisle snickered and pulled himself loose, but inwardly he was cringing, missing her touch and warm embrace the moment she let him go. He made his way up to their bedroom, cleaned and brushed his teeth before collapsing under the covers in nothing but his boxer shorts.

Half an hour later, he was still awake and tossing, thinking and completely unable to shut his exhausted mind off. But then the door creaked open and Esme walked in, shutting and locking the door before walking over to him. She shed her clothes on the way, dropping each article on the floor and leaving a trail behind her.

Esme knew from years of experience that when he came home from shifts like these, his need for her skin and warmth and pleasure was immediate.. It was the only thing that would help him sleep and forget.

He was a dweller, a thinker. So much like Edward.

He stayed as if frozen, watching her close in on him. His mouth was half open and his eyes glassy, grateful. She slipped off her panties without thought, stepping to his side and leaning down to kiss him. He groaned in satisfaction as his lips touched hers.

Wordlessly, he slipped off his boxers and let his erection spring free.

She mounted him without breaking the kiss, slipping one knee on each side of his hips against the mattress.

He reached out and traced his right palm down her stomach, leaving fire in his wake and a trail of Goosebumps that spread across her body. He reached her sex and slipped a finger inside, testing her quickly and finding her ready. She groaned when he brushed against her clitoris and moaned long and low as he guided himself up to her entrance and pushed inside.

They moved slowly, a carefully rehearsed dance as he deliberately rolled his hips so his pubic bone brushed against her sensitive flesh. She tightened and released her inner muscles teasingly like she knew he liked.

Their lips remained attached as long as their bodies were, breathing hot air into each others' mouths until she finally found release and contracted around him, setting off his own orgasm. She whimpered quietly into his mouth as he groaned and arched his back. A few minutes later, he fell backwards onto the mattress, laying them both on his side so he could hold her while he slept.

And Esme, whose fretful sleep had left her more tired than rested, found rest too, her dreams happy and bright.

At Forks hospital Emmett was staring emptily out into the air, a nauseated anxiety consuming him as he realized what he had just done.

The social worker had caught him high on Morphine, and he had told her everything.

It had felt so good to not lie, to give her every gruesome detail. But now, in retrospect, it was absolutely terrifying to think that he would be free from his hell, but facing another.

Freedom. Freedom was for those who had a desire to live, do something, create something.

Emmett had no such desire. He lived for the moment, for instant gratification where ever he could find it. He just wanted to be right now. And with his birthday just six days away, he realized that he had never felt younger or less equipped to face the world.

Rosalie Hale was alone in her room, like she was used to.

No parent came to see her, no friends to comfort her.

Her pillow was wet with salty tears, her body aching. The prospect of having to use the bathroom for any reason was less tempting than giving birth all over again.

And her baby was hovering between life and death.

She hated herself as her heart clenched at the thought.

"I will not love it!" she growled hatefully through gritted teeth, broken sobs echoing through the room.

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**If you want quick updates, a review will do=) I would love to hear your thoughts!**

**Marie0912**


	13. Chapter 13: Unhinged Soul

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Sydney, you are a irreplaceable and simply wonderful Beta, thank you so much!**

**And thank you so much to those who have reviewed, recommended and added this story to favorites and alerts.****Thank you.**

**Still a review- whore, so sue me;)**

**Its late some parts of the world, and in some its early but all the same I`m posting because I appreciate you all so much.**

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"**Unhinged Soul"**

Once again, night enveloped Forks, Washington.

Its inhabitants found rest in their beds or other activities.

Esme and Carlisle, both well-rested from their nap during the day, spent the evening making out like teenagers on the couch, watching "Unfaithful." They found inspiration in the love making scenes and proceeded to act them out throughout the house.

At home, Isabella was fast asleep, her dreams of a boy with copper hair and happiness in his face.

Charlie walked by her room at least three times before he felt certain there would be no screaming tonight.

In his room, Edward was lying on his stomach with a book out: _Notes and Sheet Music for Dummies_. He had never bothered to learn how to read sheet music in the past; the sounds clung to his subconscious, tattooed on his mind, natural as breathing in and out. He only needed to hear a sound once before he knew it like the back of his hand.

But today, music had streamed to him through a very different source, and since he couldn't play it out loud to himself, he would have to learn to read it.

Yes, that was the only solution, he thought with determination.

If sound would remain absent through the rest of his life, he would have to find another way to hear music.

Even if it was only in his heart.

He reveled in the day he had had with Isabella as he read, the little notes starting to crawl around on the page like ants when his mind pictured her smiling face.

She had left the notebook on the table when she left late in the evening.

Edward had seen it lying there, but their written conversation was something that he was desperate to keep. She had fished it out of her bag like it was the most natural thing in the world, handing him a pen and taking one herself.

"How are you feeling today?" she had scribbled, a concerned frown on her face as she took in his bruised features and swollen eye.

For some reason, her untidy scrawl made his heart thump even faster. Her concern was not condescending or annoying. It felt good. To know that she cared made him swell with joy, though under his skin, bellow his hard bitterness and excited Goosebumps, he was terrified of her.

They talked about books and movies and bullies. When her eyes landed on the Baby Grand Piano, she shifted uncomfortably, her gaze drifting back and forth between the piano and his hands.

Realization hit her almost instantly. Bella found the courage to speak her mind, and wrote with careful penmanship: "Is it yours?"

Edward nodded cautiously and watched as she put two and two together.

She eyed his itching, bouncing fingers that could not stop drumming the rhythm of his heartbeats against the wooden table with curiosity. Isabella then took a pen and scribbled hesitantly, biting her lip while pushing the notebook over to him so he could read.

"What song is that?" it said.

He looked at his finger in shock, and then back at her face. She knew.

"Just something … I hear in my head. My own…" he whispered while leaning towards her so he was close to her ear.

She blushed at his proximity, but Edward assumed her embarrassment was because of the volume of his voice and blushed too.

"I'm sorry if I'm loud, I… I have a hard time remembering how to---"

But Isabella shook her head violently, realizing what was wrong and took his hand gently.

"You are not loud," she assured him, shaking her head and mouthing the words slowly so he could catch them.

He smiled, relief in his features and pride in his eyes. He watched her lips like they were the most fascinating thing in the world, even though she was silent now.

She saw his joy and shared it, her cheeks pinking up again as his intense, moss green irises moved over her face like a lover's caress.

"You are perfect," she whispered without moving her lips much at all, knowing he wouldn't understand, but had to say it anyway.

Edward had no idea the hold he already had on her heart, but her words, no matter that he couldn't hear or understand them, were beautiful.

Edward fell asleep clutching sheet music and hope in his fingertips, his last thoughts of Isabella before his eyes sealed shut. His dreams were of piano keys and vocal flows and melodies that resounded in great halls.

The Cullens and the Swans rested peacefully that night. Edward had his alarm clock under his pillow again and Esme had sewn Velcro at the bottom of his pillow so it would remain in place as a precaution.

Bella dreamt of meadows and sunshine and smiling boys with tapping fingers.

But at Forks Hospital, things were less settled and happy.

Emmett was in pain. He was lonely and, for once, truly questioning his self worth. He never thought he would amount to much, never aspired to anything. His goals in life had been limited, he didn't expect much from himself because no one else did.

Except for evil.

People, more specifically his peers, expected some sort of cruelty or evil from him. They had for years.

Even Maybe did, to some point.

The first night they truly met, she was very scared of him and rightfully so, her slight posture and frail features nothing against his huge and muscular body in a fight. Back then, Emmett McCarty was ashamed to say that he wouldn't have hesitated punching a girl.

But back then he was only twelve years old.

He had his cell in his hand the entire day and night, itching to call her and beg her to come sit with him. But every time he dialed her familiar number, he stopped himself.

He had burdened her enough.

Emmett had no idea that Rosalie Hale was lying in the wing on the floor right above him, crying and cursing and pleading with God to take it all back. Her fretful slumbers were filled with nightmares and hurt. When she was awake, she would walk the halls or her room, dragging her IV bag along like a puppy and secretly wondering where her newborn son was.

She had refused to hold him or look at him when Doctor Cullen tried to introduce mother and child, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain and fear and sudden connection she felt with the life she had just brought to the world.

Carlisle Cullen had stopped insisting eventually, wheeling the incubator out of the room, but Rosalie had turned in time to see something pink and utterly perfect and beautiful and alive lying inside that plastic prison. He was too small, fighting for his life because of her body's lack of ability to nurture and protect him.

She couldn't even be pregnant the right way.

And she couldn't hate.

But she tried.

Oh, God did she try to hate that baby.

And to everyone looking on, to Doctor Cullen, to the staff, it looked like she loathed her son with a vengeance.

But Julie De Lespinasse had once put into words what Rosalie could not phrase: "You know that when I hate you, it's because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul."

That was exactly what had happened.

The baby, no matter how he came to be, who had been part of his conception and creation, had completely and utterly unhinged her soul. And she knew that in spite of herself, she would probably love that child until the day she died, her mistakes and everyone else's be dammed.

The thought made her cry harder as her legs brought her, subconsciously, unwillingly, to the part of the maternity ward where they kept the newborns, knowing that her heart was determined to create a bond between her and her son, no matter how she fought it.

And no matter how she wanted him, she knew she couldn't keep him. She would poison him with the blackness of her soul, the weakness in her heart and the bitterness on her tongue.

Silent tears of consuming grief rolled down her cheeks as she stood with palms flat against the Plexiglas barrier that separated her from the premature infant. Her eyes fixed on his sickeningly thin and small body, the bluish, fragile veins and the white mask that protected his eyes from the bright light.

On the container that protected his life it said, "Baby Boy Hale." She read the three words over and over and over in her mind until she finally crumpled in pieces on the floor and had to be carried back to her room by the attending physician.

In his room, Emmett had hung up on his mother for the fifth time that evening. He was too sick and tired to even attempt to do it again.

So when the phone rang for the sixth time, he picked it up without looking at the display.

"I don't want to fucking talk to your ugly ass face! Never again! I don't ever wanna see you again, you cruel bitch! I'm in the fucking hospital, I nearly fucking died! I hate you! I fucking hate you!" he screamed. Finally sated, crying, he hung up the phone, completely oblivious to the fact that the display had read "Maybe," not "Mom."

And Mary Alice Brandon crumpled to pieces on the floor in the same fashion as Rosalie, feeling like a monster, knowing she had left him at the hospital and that Emmett McCarty would never forgive her.

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**Well, you know what to do: leave a review!  
I made a rhyme because I`m hoping it will charm you into doing it;)**

**Love, Marie0912**


	14. Chapter 14: Forgiveness

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Sydney, you are a irreplaceable and simply wonderful Beta, thank you so much!  
Mrs. Berry, thank you for the laughs and support!  
Aciepey – Your offer to help means the world and so does your fangirling!**

**A huge thank you to Mrs. The King for creating the #readalong concept on Twitter and another huge thank you to lovesVampStorys for choosing me of all people to read on Valentine's day!**

**And yet another, though highly deserved thank you to all my new readers, the old ones and especially to Twitters Readalong girls, Caludia and Trixi! I dedicate this chapter to you!**

**Thus concludes epically long A/N.**

**WARNING: **

**The content of this chapter is possible for some to find disturbing and I advise you to read with caution. **

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**_Five years ago._**

The moss was soaking up the wet moisture as the rain kept falling so heavy it was damn near scary.

She ran as fast as her bare feet would carry her across the unyielding terrain, wincing in pain each time her delicate skin got pierced or cut by twigs or rocks. It was fairly silent, no sound but the wind, breaking branches and her panting breath.

She had one goal as she sprinted across the green earth - the Cabin.

She looked down at her white gown with disgust as she finally, after having run for one hour straight with a bitter copper taste in her mouth and tears on her cheeks, reached the door. She didn't knock. She didn't have to.

She closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it, breathing heavily and sunk down to the floor.

"Maybe he didn't mean it. Maybe he was just not thinking. Maybe it was a mistake?" she mused, her voice barely above a whisper as she wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked back and forth.

Her eyes traveled over the dirty, dusty room she was currently hiding in. It was warm and familiar to her in spite of being grimy, the planks rotten, the wind howling through the cracks and the rain pouring through a hole in the tin roof.

It was her sanctuary.

But tonight there was no peace or security to be found here, no rest for her terrified heart and shameful soul.

Carefully, she let go of her legs, allowing her knees to relax against the cold muddy floor of rotten wood and breathed in the musky air of nature decomposing as if it was the sweetest aroma. Her heart steadied as she slowly meditated herself into a state of blankness.

She had practiced this often; it was a neat technique when suppressing bad thoughts and memories.

The only downside was that it had begun affecting her overall memory, making her forgetful and giving her a hard time concentrating. It was worth it though, worth the kids calling her stupid and her angry teachers

Even worth _his _anger, in the end.

She had no idea how long she had been sitting there, up against the door in the Cabin before she noticed she was not alone in the room. Something was lying in a dark corner. Something large.

It was breathing, snoring lightly, making a sort of wheezy sound that was scary to listen to when the wind wasn't deafening it.

She screamed. Loudly.

The creature in the corner suddenly woke and jumped to its feet.

It was a very large looking and angry boy.

His eyes looked wild in the darkness, as if he was a caged bear looking for a weak spot in the metal bars so he could break free and attack. Or maybe he just looked like a bear who had been woken from his nap.

_Yes, that other alternative seemed more appropriate_, she decided though she had no idea why these thoughts crossed her mind in this moment. She should be scared witless. She should be running, screaming, but she was paralyzed.

Today`s events could not be topped by an angry bear boy in the Cabin.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, and in that moment, nothing had looked more frightening or glorious than Bear Boy.

He looked like Beast from _Beauty and the Beast_, shrouded in shadow and mystery, his face in the dark and his breathing loud and wheezy.

"I'm… I'm not…" she stuttered, flustered. "What are _you _doing here?" she demanded, switching the tables on him.

"That is none of your fucking business!" he growled loudly, his voice like a snarl in the dark.

She shivered in fear and started to back away, her hand searching for the handle behind her blindly.

"Where are you going?" He suddenly jumped forward, like he was about to attack her, and she did the only thing a person can do in a moment like that.

She ran.

She almost tore the door off its hinges and ran.

Her bare feet were hitting the wet ground with loud splashes and her ankles covered in mud.

But she was tackled about three minutes later.

Something large and heavy slammed her brutally to the ground and she screamed in fear and pain as she tore the skin of her knees. Panting and shivering, she turned around to look at the Beast.

He was a very large, grown boy; his curls the only seemingly innocent part of him and his face torn, cut and bruised. His eyes were blue and brown, a swirl of colors that resembled stormy seas.

"What the hell are you doing out here, Mary Alice?!" he boomed at her, his voice loud and echoing through the woods.

Mary Alice screamed at the use of her name, seeing the boy clearly for the first time and realizing that it was not a fictional character from a Disney movie, but rather Emmett McCarty. The school bully.

That night she confessed her sins, and Emmett his. Neither had ever shared a thing, but during the night they decided to share the Cabin in the woods.

It was built long before either had set foot on this earth, and would still stand, at least its foundations, when they were gone.

There was no use fighting when they could make use of each other instead. She stood for antiseptic compresses and band aids. He stole feminine napkins from his mother for her. And in the dark, they held each other while they cried.

About a year later, Mary Alice Brandon was thirteen and Emmett fourteen, damaged beyond repair and out of control.

Emmett was hanging with the worst of the worst, popping pills like they came from a Pez dispenser, high or strung out most of the time, but nothing settled his edgy nerves or temperament. He lashed out at everyone, at everything. His teachers got his mouth, his fellow students and friends got his fists, and his father got a punching bag.

But for Mary Alice it was different.

Each time _he _was done with her, telling her to shower and clean her dirty, sinful body, she went into the bathroom and scrubbed mercilessly down there, until it was raw and aching and would certainly _not _feel even remotely good to be touched, licked or fucked for days.

And when she was done, bleeding and hurting, she grabbed the razor blade from under the sink and cut a deep, thin line across her lower left or right arm. One notch for each time he had touched her.

If she had liked it enough to… scream, she would pour salt on it when she got into the kitchen.

One day in late June the same year, the old priest died and everyone in town went to his funeral ceremony.

She hadn't been in a church since her mother died when she was five. It was the first time Mary Alice had ever folded her hands and prayed.

Her knowledge where scripture and God were concerned was what he told her each time he stripped her naked and did… things to her body. She was a sinner then, a temptress. She would go to hell if she didn't abide or please him, and she would go to hell if she got pleasure out of it.

That was the worst part about it, her body`s reaction.

She had no control over it, he touched her in a certain way and she got… wet… and he said that it was a sign that she wanted it.

But most times it hurt, and when he was almost done hurting her, he touched her parts. Then something happened and it was good and he would call her all sorts of filthy names and she would scream and believe that she deserved each one.

They sat on wooden benches, the material hard and unyielding, the people crying and the light somewhat pleasant, not too bright. Mary Alice listened intently to what the new priest man said, giggling some at the clearly Texan drawl in his accent.

But when he started on about sins too, she stopped smiling.

She ate up every word, and finally found the one she had been searching for, longing for, for years now.

"_Forgiveness."_

"To err is human, but forgiveness is Divine. God loves all his children," he stated with confidence.

Mary Alice gaped at him.

She could have forgiveness?

"All is possible through the power of prayer," the man told his congregation.

And as the people streamed out of the church, she remained with the excuse that she needed to use the restroom. She waited in the church's bathroom until she heard the doors close and knew she was alone, sprinted out to the prayer alter and kneeled with a thud that echoed through the large hall.

She took a deep breath and gazed upon the dying Jesus Christ on the cross, not quite knowing where to start. She took yet another gulp of air and just decided that she would pretend Jesus was in that sculpture.

"Hi… Jesus. And God… You know, your …_ Father,_" she whispered and blushed shamefully.

_Of course Jesus knew who his father was._

Shaking her head, she continued on.

"Um… So I kind of need to talk to you, or … well your dad too I guess…" Her voice was growing unsteady as she unwillingly recalled why she was kneeling.

Images of naked bodies and pain and shame and fear flashed through her head.

"I'm… Um…" She tried to ignore the tears that slipped from her eyes. "My dad says… He says women are tools for… men`s you know…" She blushed again and stupidly gestured to the only part of Jesus that was covered. "For their… pleasure… " she finished, reddened and shamefaced.

"Oh no, I'm sorry. I know it's rude to point and especially to the… At your… Never mind, I'm sorry… I…"

She hiccupped and swallowed hard.

"He does things. Things to my body, to me down… there…" She again gestured to his clothed part and then remembered that she had promised not to do it, so she pointed quickly at herself and shook her head, mumbling another "Sorry."

"It hurts… A lot.... when he does those things with his… body. He says that they are supposed to hurt, that if it doesn't …. that if it feels good, then …" She took a deep breath and averted her eyes from the statue. "Then I will go to hell for being a… whore… a sinner… ugly and disgusting and …" She unfolded her hands and covered her eyes as unbidden images and memories flashed before her eyes. "So dirty… I will never be clean…" she told God and Jesus.

"I … Please… I'm so sorry… I need… I need forgiveness… please." she whispered as her body shook.

What she did not know was that there was another witness in that church, one that walked the earth with her.

His golden blond locks were curly and messy, his eyes large and warm and brown, and his entire body shaking at her confession to the Lord.

Jasper Whitlock had watched her through the whole ceremony, seen her intense stare and wondering eyes as his father spoke of his faith and of death and heaven. She had soaked it up like it was water in the driest of deserts, her delicate and seemingly melancholy features brightened and hopeful for something.

And then she had kneeled and prayed like some children do when there is no one left to turn to.

But unlike most children, who would have prayed for it all to stop, the girl prayed for forgiveness.

She was prepared to endure the torture as long as someone lifted the weight of guilt and judgment from her shoulders when her days were counted and over with.

"Thank you… for listening… I'm sorry to bother you since you are probably a little busy but…" She took a deep breath and stood up on unsteady feet. "Amen."

She ran out of the church like fire was chasing her and Jasper Whitlock stood, open mouthed and horrified behind.

Two days later, Larry Brandon was collected by Chief Charlie Swan in handcuffs, his computer found loaded to the brim with pictures of naked children and movies of unspeakable things.

Father Whitlock never confessed to a soul what schemes he had pulled to save that girl from her hell. Some of it was quite illegal and honestly, morally wrong. But Father Whitlock was not prepared to have a child, well any creature, suffer if he could prevent it, and he would carry the burden of his lies on his mantle proudly until judgment day.

And watching Jasper's relieved smile made it all the more worth it.

A week later, Mary Alice Brandon was offered housing with St. Magdalene's convent on the outskirts of Forks, about half an hour's drive from school.

She accepted immediately.

It might not have been quite the same faith as the one that had lead her to her salvation, but she would find peace and redemption in a place with safe walls and God.

And most importantly: women.

She never knew what Jasper had done for her. Quite frankly, she had never looked twice at his face. About three months later, she became Maybe.

No one knew her address, no one knew her past, and no one knew a single thing about her.

And no one saw past the attention seeking bitch in too tight clothes long enough to notice that she prayed under the table before each meal, or that she snuck off to the locker rooms after school to change into her favorite sweats so she could help out in the garden when she got back.

No one except Jasper Whitlock.

But she refused to notice him.

Emmett McCarty knew the basics, but he didn't count.

They never counted each other.

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**Thank you so much for reading, reviewing and for recommending. For brightening my day with your awesome feedback, for making me feel treasured and talented.**

**I simply adore you and I hope you are still breathing and with me!**

**Marie0912**


	15. Chapter 15: Blending with the crowd

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**This chapter is a dedication to quite a few people as well:  
To the reader I lost: I`m sorry it was too rough and I appreciate that you made the effort. Thank you.  
To every single one who review: I adore you and I try to reply to everyone.  
To RomanceMary for being all kinds of adorable.  
To the Twitter #readalong that expands with each day.  
To Roselover24 aka Sue. We both know why;) (and if you don't, then HA!)  
To Trixie again. You are you. That is all.  
And to Lasserie/ aka Mrs. Berry.  
And to sweet Claudia.**

**Romanticvamp11/ aka Sydney, my Beta: You are too kind for words and faster than Superman!**

* * *

"**_Blending with the crowd"_**

Edward woke in silence the next morning, but for the first time in what seemed like forever, it was not the first thought that entered his mind.

His first thought, his first mental image was _her_; her smile, her gentle eyes and soft touch when she brushed her hand against his.

He got out of bed with a spring in his step, not even noticing that the alarm under his pillow had yet to ring or that it was still dark outside. He jumped into the shower and let the heated mist envelope his senses and body. It wrapped him in a warm blanket and soothed him while the water washed away grime, sorrow and mistakes made, bad thoughts and fears.

He washed with something that smelled like coconut and combed his hair in spite of knowing perfectly well that when his unruly hair dried it would once again take on a life of its own. He sprayed some cologne, shaved the light, almost downy growth of beard that had grown back over night, and walked down the stairs to find his mother awake and in the kitchen.

She waved at the sight of him and brought her open palm, fingers pressed together, up to her face. The tips of the digits touched her chin briefly before she swept her arm down, palm up, as though she were going to offer him something. Her left hand then pressed into the bend of her elbow and she brought her right hand straight up, palm toward her face.

_"Good morning,"_ her hands said.

She pointed at Edward and then curled her fingers into a "C" shape. She brought that hand to her collarbone and moved it down her chest, raising her eyebrows in a questioning look.

"_You hungry?"_

He nodded with a smile, a sudden appetite for both food and the day itself settling within him.

Esme looked more than enthusiastic at her son's sudden joy and urge for food. She turned right around, toasting bread and retrieving the butter from the fridge. She sliced strawberries while Edward carefully mixed chocolate milk, adding the chocolate powder in three large spoons first, and then splashed a little milk over it, watching it go all muddy before pouring to the top, creating lumps that he gleefully fished out and ate with a spoon.

Like he used to when he was a kid, Esme recognized fondly.

Carlisle was down in the kitchen when the clock showed seven thirty, refreshed, eager to help and heal once more. He examined the socket and bruise around Edward's eye carefully. Esme recognized the way her husband's left hand twitched while he was examining their son's face and swiftly brought him a notepad and a pen.

"The swelling is going down and the bruise is yellowing slightly. It should be gone within a few days, Edward," Carlisle wrote with a smile.

To Edward this was a great relief. He wanted the ordeal over and forgotten as soon as humanly possible, though if high school in Forks was anything like high school in Chicago, this was a moot point.

He dreaded walking those halls again. He had to desire to face his peers and see their lips move, paranoia washing over him as he caught random words and tried to make sense or meaning out of it.

But he so longed to see Isabella again. She had a soothing effect on his mind and a rather erratic effect on his heart.

Esme served Edward buttered toast with sliced strawberries stirred in sugar and milk for breakfast and watched him eat with satisfaction.

Edward was in his car ten minutes later and making his way towards Forks High rather early. He wanted to wait for her car to arrive so he could walk _her _to class like she had done for him.

Edward had brought his lap top today, since it was going to be one of his aids. He had refused, after careful thought, to have a teaching assistant. He would rather have the lectures given to him on a memory stick so he could read through them while trying to read on the teacher's lips.

It was good practice for later in life.

He had always been fond of languages, music was sound and so was the spoken word. He found French and Italian particularly interesting and had managed to pick up on a word every now and again, but never actually studied it.

The older you were when you started out, the harder it was to learn and become fluent, so in his own mind, Edward had already given up on becoming fluent in ASL.

His hands were skilled and coordinated, but in his heart, they were destined for piano keys.

He tried though, for his mother's sake. Esme missed being able to talk to him.

The cold, moist air ruffled his hair gently and he wrapped his arms around his torso when a particularly nasty gust of wind caught him off guard. The lot started filling while he waited for her to arrive. He saw her truck pull into the lot soon enough, driving slower than anyone he had seen since before Grandma Platt died, making him laugh and smile.

She was driving that slowly and carefully because of him.

Edward walked over to her car with a smile still at his lips, and when she opened the door and stepped out, bushing her hair out of her eyes to look at him, his breath caught in his throat again. His heartbeat accelerated to the impossible once more, creating his own personal, inner soundtrack, and driving his feet forward to be close to her that much sooner.

They stood nose to nose, Edward marching through her personal space like tasting her minty toothpaste on his own tongue when he breathed in and out was completely normal.

She blushed and smiled, and so did he.

"Shall we?" Edward nodded towards his arm which he motioned for her to take.

She beamed at the sight and grabbed it firmly while they walked across the lot, Isabella ignoring the whispers behind and around them for once. Edward was completely oblivious to it.

It felt perfect.

Across the lot, Maybe was staring after the new kid and Isabella with a blank mask on her face. Inside, however, there was turmoil and resentment.

Emmett hadn't said why his father beat him up two nights ago, but everything was implied, connected. She had faith in the butterfly effect. One deed, good or bad, deserves another.

She knew that Emmett had no right to strike the boy, especially considering his disability, but if the choice was between seeing Edward Cullen humiliated and beaten in a puddle in the school lot, or seeing Emmett on the verge of death because of his father's "discipline," she was both ashamed and proud to say that her choice was going to be Emmett's health and happiness.

As happy as he would ever be.

She hadn't even stood up for Rosalie Hale all those months ago when Emmett did what he did, said what he said.

Even though Rosalie Hale desperately deserved and needed someone to fend for her, Maybe had refrained from doing so.

Because Emmett came first.

When she got home, she prayed for forgiveness and did the ritual cleansing fast for two days. It was the only way she knew how to punish herself now.

She would never cut herself again, unless…

No, she shuddered at the thought.

One single tear clung to an eyelash on her right eye at the thought of Emmett and all the horrible things he had said. At the thought of his anger. And the fact that they had lost each other, that he never wanted to see her again.

Her usual posse came to greet her fast enough though, and she had to put on her blank mask again.

As she walked towards the school doors, her "friends" laughing and cheering about something or another, Maybe clutched the silver cross around her neck through the sweater she was wearing. She usually didn't wear jewelry to school, least of all the cross, but today, because of everything, she needed it, needed to feel the weight of it.

Jasper Whitlock was dropped off a block away from school by his father. They liked to keep it that way.

Few knew, in spite of him having lived in Forks for nearly five years, that Jasper's father and Father Whitlock were one and the same.

Well, if he had friends at all, people would probably have noticed sooner.

But Jasper didn't want friends, didn't need friends.

"Have a great day, son." Father Whitlock patted his son gently on the head and earned a hug in return. Jasper may have grown out of many things over the years, but he would never grow out of hugging his father.

He walked the wet steps with the usual glum he felt whenever he entered the school building and headed for his first class that day: U.S. History. It was the only class he felt excited about. None of the others kept his attention long enough.

And if Mary Alice Brandon was in one of the classes, the subject couldn't keep his attention at all.

He sat down at his usual desk but was surprised and not to mention a little peeved when he suddenly had company. No one ever sat beside him and he liked it that way.

He looked up and saw the new kid place his butt on the chair next to him, an awful bruise around his eye and the goofiest grin on his face.

Jasper knew that grin.

Ugh.

He tried to ignore the boy to the best of his ability, but this proved hard when he suddenly had a note shoved under his nose that read "Hello, my name is Edward Cullen. Could you please repeat what the teacher just said about the Revolutionary War?"

Sighing, Jasper knew he couldn't very well refuse the boy and wrote him an extensive repetition of what Mr. Wright had said, but added - because when Jasper really got in to it, he couldn't resist - a lot of personal observation and knowledge that he had gained elsewhere.

All the while, Edward had been busy opening his lap top and unknotting the power cord while muttering curses under his breath.

Well, they were probably _supposed _to be under his breath…

"Piece of shit equipment for piece of shit computer for piece of shit learning aid for piece of shit hearing loss for – Oh, fuck my life! I think I'm gonna write this crap of bitterness down and mail it to FML dot com because it's bound to make some sort of top ten list so that I can – YES! Finally! Unraveled knots, I RULE!"

The entire class had heard. And the entire class laughed.

Edward was completely oblivious though.

And Jasper couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He knew perfectly well what it was like to be laughed at.

He handed Edward the note without as much as a smile once he finally sat down, because Jasper wanted to be the only person in that room who didn't find his disability and lack of inner monologue funny.

Even though it sort of was, Jasper was not going to laugh.

Edward misread his expressions though, oblivious to Jaspers honorable intentions, and concluded that it was resentment or hostility he was being shown. He pulled his chair as far away from Jasper as he possibly could and tried to mutter "I'm so sorry to disturb you," but failed because of his stress level and embarrassment, and the whole class heard. Again.

Sighing, Jasper turned in his chair and put a hand on Edward's shoulder.

"D—d—Ddddon't wo-worry a-about it," Jasper forced out.

Edward frowned at his lips, complete confusion as he didn't understand a word that Jasper had said, so Jasper wrote him a note saying the same thing.

Only less stuttering.

Edward had no idea that Jasper had ridiculed himself for his benefit, or that Jasper knew exactly what it was like to be laughed at because something beyond your control prevented you from blending into the crowd.

* * *

**And who loves Jasper?**

**I do!  
Do you?**

**Leave a review!**

**Marie0912**


	16. Chapter 16: Repel

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Announcement:**

**The voting in the Twific IndieAwards has begun and The Sound Of Your Voice is nominated in the category"All human story that knocks you off your feet".  
Im up against some really good fics and I would love your vote. See the A/N at the end for information and link.**

**Short Q & A:  
Q: Why "The sound of your voice?"  
A: The Sound Of Your Voice is named after the Swedish translation of New Moon which is called "When I hear the sound of your voice" and is quite a beautiful title, but it holds a very different meaning here of course.**

**Q: Was the fire in chapter seven the cause of Edward`s hearing loss?  
A: No. The reason Edward is deaf has not yet been revealed, all though that day might very well have ended his life since that was how his deafness was discovered.**

**And finally: In Edwards rant in the previous chapter, I had meant for him to say "I should mail it to FML (dot) com, but FFN decided to fuck with me.**

**Join our ever expanding #readalong on twitter if you please, we would love your addition to our little reading soirée.  
The usual thank you to my Beta, to my friends on Twitter, to everyone who ads to alerts and favorites and especially to those who review.  
I think I did a fair job with replying this time around, but if I didn't reply to you then I am really sorry and will try to do better.**

* * *

**"_Repel" _**

Isabella had woken up on December eleventh with butterflies in her stomach and rushed out the door without eating breakfast.

Renee would usually have worried about her daughter's lack of nutrition, but she recognized the grin Bella wore with affection and opted for putting together a sandwich and sneaking it into her backpack.

Isabella eagerly started the engine of her car and slowly rolled down the slippery roads of Forks, careful of speed. Breaks and blind spots and everything else she could think of as she kept a ridiculously low speed. When she parked in the lot and got out of the car, a beautiful boy with a bright smile greeted her, stepping so close that she could feel the heat from his body touch her skin and make it tingle.

And to her great surprise and delight, the beautiful boy offered her his arm so he could walk her to class.

As she grabbed hold of him, her entire world went silent too. Not in the grieving, horrific sense that his had done, but rather in the sense that everything else became background noise and mindless clatter that she neither could or wanted to hear. It was like standing alone in a swimming pool; the rush of the water and the beat of your heart and the sound of your breath echoing from the walls and ceiling. She was so much more aware of her body, of his, and barely aware of the whispers and cold wind that surrounded them.

Her first class was English, but she barely noticed a thing the teacher said, hardly even responding when spoken to.

And he was there, outside the classroom, when she came through the door. He was smiling in spite of his eye being bruised, the crinkling in the corner of those glorious green orbs looking so adorable and handsome she could barely contain herself as she felt her stomach fluttering.

What was going on? She wondered with a mixture of fear and excitement.

In a matter of days, her entire world had become possessed by this boy. This glorious, damaged and fearful boy who would never be able to hear her call out for him at night in her sleep.

She felt the tingles shoot up her arm every time she grabbed a hold of his hand, felt the stares as they both walked the hallways, felt the butterflies and the euphoria of what she had yet to admit to herself was a crush. She waved goodbye with a heavy heart when he had to leave to make it to his own classes.

Edward was silent mostly. He only tried to convey feelings and thoughts through smiles or looks of serenity. He was very calm, thought Bella with peaceful joy. It made her school day so much easier when she could see that he was settled and content within himself, that his happy bubble, whatever had caused it, was still intact.

They made their way to lunch smiling, her hand on his arm and a smile on both faces. It made her heart stutter.

They looked around the cafeteria for somewhere to sit after Edward had loaded her tray with all sorts of food, insisting silently that they were all quite necessary for their short meal. As Bella was about to make her way towards a vacant table in the corner, Edward suddenly grabbed a hold of her arm and steered her towards a table by the window where she was stunned to see Jasper Whitlock sitting.

She tried to object but he ignored her frantic waves and just pulled her along until she was finally seated next to him by the table. She waited for Jasper to say something about invading his personal space or insult them, but as soon as Jasper caught sight of Edward, he just shrugged and made room.

Jasper sitting with someone? She must be delusional.

He greeted her with a stiff nod and commenced scowling around the cafeteria, until his eyes every now and again landed on Maybe. His pupils would contract every time, Isabella noted. His skin flushed, his lips parted.

And for just a moment, he smiled sadly, as if he saw something that no one else could.

********

Emmett woke abruptly from vivid and feverish dreams to a harsh and bright light shining in his left eye on December eleventh, three days after his father had beaten him to the verge of death.

The man on the other end of the mini flashlight was a blond, middle aged doctor with a handsome face and warm, greenish brown eyes that twinkled a little.

"Hello, Mr. McCarty," he smiled gently, his soft voice the kind that reminded Emmett of a recorded story teller from when he listened to cassette tapes of Disney fairytales when he was little. It was engaging and inviting, warm and perfectly rehearsed, like he had spoken to boys in Emmett's situation thousands of times before.

"You seem to be doing much better today," the doctor observed, still smiling comfortingly.

"Yeah…" Emmett replied and attempted to shrug, but winced as the broken ribs and wound shifted sickeningly, pain shooting through him like the lash of a whip, leaving a stinging ache in its wake as a reminder not to do it again.

At the thought of lashing whips though, Emmett winced again and flashes of a leather belt swinging through dark, moist air with relentless force shot through his mind.

"So . . ." The smiling doctor placed the flashlight in the chest pocket of his coat and turned around, grabbing a small stool and rolling it over to where Emmett was lying. "I know you've had a chance to talk to a social worker and everything, but…" he bit his lip and looked carefully at Emmett. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Emmett tried very hard not to squirm uncomfortably as he shook his head.

You see, the boy's eyes had shifted from the smiling doctor's face and down to the name tag on the left hand pocket of his white lab coat where it said "Dr. Cullen MD."

Carlisle frowned in confusion at the child's sudden discomfort and followed the path Emmett's eyes had taken. He felt no wiser as he looked at his name tag though, and after a long moment of silence shared, he sighed and shook his head.

"If you don't want to tell me, it's quite alright. Just know that whatever secrets you keep are safe with me."

The sincerity in Carlisle's voice made Emmett's eyes well up with salty tears without permission.

"It's not that," Emmett offered in a mumble. "I just don't know why the hell you'd care…"

Carlisle's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Well, not only is it my job to care, but as a human being I cannot help but…" He sighed and placed a tender, careful hand on Emmett's shoulder, staring him right in the eye.

It was the kind of touch that one used with small children, with lapdogs and puppies and cute things, Emmett thought. He flinched away from his touch with aggressiveness he couldn't quite defend or explain.

Carlisle removed his hand instantly, shock and regret readable on his handsome face as he took in the child's reaction. Emmett was more than a little surprised at himself; the emotions stirring within him, the thought of someone laying a hand on him, even in a friendly manner, making him want to resort to violence and aggression, to lash out and defend himself.

And quite honestly, it made him scared. Emmett was never scared.

Angry, yes, but scared? No. Never.

They looked at each other for an unmeasured moment, each trying to read the others' thoughts as Carlisle's friendly, warm irises pierced into Emmett's.

"He beat me."

The silence broke with what could have been a crack, leaving fissures in the foundations of Emmett's carefully built walls.

Why had he said that? Why the hell did he tell Carlisle Cullen that?

He had spent years confiding in none but Maybe, why the hell was he leaking like a fucking faucet now?

First the lady from child protective services - he had blamed the Morphine then - and now the man whose son and wife were the cause of his wounds.

Instantly though, Emmett corrected himself. Neither of them were as responsible for this as he was himself. It was Emmett who had gone and struck the boy.

But his confused and guilty, bitter ponderings were interrupted when Carlisle put a hand on Emmett's cheek and willed the boy to make eye contact.

"How long?" Carlisle asked, like he knew, like his knowledge of Emmett's experiences stretched beyond his lab coat and the walls of this hospital.

And Emmett's walls were already weak. The concrete dissolved as brick after brick fell from the foundations around him.

"For as long as I can remember."

"Why this time though?" Carlisle sat down again, taking in the damage done to the boy's body with an expression that revealed he was not quite able to keep a professional distance, and that the pain Emmett was currently suffering hurt deeper than it should.

Emmett looked away again.

"You don't want to know," Emmett shrugged and winced again, the pain shooting through him making him hiss.

"Try me," Carlisle urged, placing a hand over the IV that sat in Emmett's right hand gently.

"You will hate me," Emmett whispered, making Carlisle even more confused.

"Son, there is nothing you can confess to that will make me hate you. I barely know you and I do not judge. When a father puts a hand on his child, it is neither deserved nor justified," Carlisle informed the boy sternly.

Emmett shrugged. It was not like he needed a good doctor. Maybe the guy would be so mad he'd kill Emmett in his sleep? It was worth a shot.

He just hoped Carlisle wouldn't hit. He wasn't sure he could take it right now.

"Because I punched your disabled son in the face a few days ago and people tend to frown upon that shit!" he all but growled.

Whatever Carlisle had anticipated - drugs, curfew violation, sex, bad grades, stolen cars - whatever scenario Carlisle had cooked up, it was certainly not this. And his blood boiled at the use of the expression "disabled" when speaking of his son.

Emmett had chosen his narrow-minded and cruel insult with care, knowing what buttons to push.

He let his tears loose as he watched Dr. Carlisle Cullen's lab coat swish behind him as he left the room, taking small comfort and solace in the fact that he still had this ability intact.

The ability to hurt and reject. To repel.

But just as Emmett was about to try and close his eyes and get some sleep, trying to get the world to stop existing, trying to forget his mother's betrayal, how much he missed Mary Alice and how much his body hurt, the door swung open again.

Carlisle Cullen came walking through, closed it behind him and was carrying a book under his arm.

"I am truly sorry for how your father treated you, about how you obviously have endured a lot. I am very glad you are no longer obligated to return to that life and those people but this lashing out at undeserving people has to stop," the man declared and handed Emmett a book.

He frowned at the pages and then looked up at Carlisle with a mildly confused expression.

"I will not allow you to call my son disabled, I will not allow you to strike him and quite frankly boy, had I known who you were a few days ago, I'm not entirely sure you would have escaped an encounter with me without a whole lot of yelling and a note to your parents," Dr. Cullen told him. "But I would certainly not have laid a hand on you. This is a book on signing. You have a lot of time on your hands and when you finally do make it back to school in a few weeks, you will apologize to him speaking with your hands. Not your fists. Is that clear?"

The doctor waited for Emmett to nod.

He did, hesitantly, after a few seconds.

"Good," Carlisle nodded too.

He fiddled with the drip and monitors before finally deciding to leave, the silence that had settled between them and the strain too much for them. He reached for the handle, but then stopped, turning around to look at the boy once more.

"Oh and I was just wondering . . . why did you tell your father if…" Carlisle trailed off awkwardly.

Emmett shrugged.

"I didn't. Your wife did."

* * *

***************

**Oh my! Carlisle, what will you do?**

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**Love,  
Marie0912**


	17. Chapter 17: Knowledge and deceit

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.  
**  
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**Thanks times hundred to my super Beta Romanticvamp11 for being faster than the wind when bribed with CrimeWardLemons. - Watch out for this o/s on the 28th of February;)**

**You can thank your selves for the superfast update. That Is All.**

* * *

**_"Knowledge and deceit"_**

The lunch dragged on. Eyes were fixed in the direction of a table at the far end of the cafeteria where two boys and a girl were sitting. The one with a dark shade of reddish brown hair had his intense stare and stunning eyes fixed upon his companion: a slim brunette who smiled back whenever she noticed he was looking at her. They were sharing food out of a single tray, both probably unaware of the intimate gesture that lay within an act as simple as this.

Mothers feed their newborns, no matter the species; the act of feeding is about caring. And lovers share everything: food, drinks, pleasures, sorrows.

But as usual, most saw completely past the blond boy in black clothes. Even when eyes lingered on his face, they held no real curiosity. It was like he faded into the background, like he had been branded long ago, labeled and put on a shelf and could not get down.

Isabella bit into a sour apple and made a stunningly cute grimace that had Edward laughing loudly. A genuine smile spread across Jasper's lips.

Silently, they all wondered how Edward Cullen could look so carefree, why he looked so unaffected by all of them, by being new and why he didn't seem worried about Emmett McCarty showing up and punching him in the other eye.

The football players sat at a separate table and chatted like their team wasn't missing a team player, Royce King among them, smiling to himself as he was finally top dog. If only for now.

No one missed Rosalie Hale or noticed her absence as the table in the end of the hall, close to the emergency exit was completely void of occupants. Had Rose been there and found out, this truth would not have surprised her. But it would have hurt.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, a small girl stood from the table with most occupants. People were sitting on chairs with people on their laps, on the table itself or even kneeling on the floor beside it to be part of the group. Every girl and boy turned their head in her direction as Maybe suddenly rose off her seat and began walking toward the table where Edward, Isabella and Jasper sat.

The whispers increased impossibly. It sounded like a rainstorm tapping hard against the ground and tin roofs, deafening and all around them. But Maybe was unaffected by this and her steps did not falter as they might have done with a less cocky girl.

High School drama was not on the short list of things that frightened her.

She stopped as she reached Edward's chair. She looked him up and down, her hand twitching at her side as she didn't know whether to stroke his confused brow (though where this impulsive and disturbing act of tenderness came from she had no idea) or smack him across the face. Edward said nothing as Isabella stiffened in her chair beside him; he could feel her anxiety and knew that he had to be fearless. For her at least.

Jasper Whitlock had gone rigid.

Every muscle in his young body was tense and strained. He sat as if frozen, with large eyes fixated upon her face. She had an oval, though full face with a few freckles, classic features and a perfect, small nose that he had an inexplicable urge to kiss. Her hair a dark and deep brown color that was not quite mahogany and not quite black, reached just below her chin in sweet, though artificial ringlets and curls. She was dressed in her usual long sleeved sweater. She always wore some kind of sweater.

But her pouty lips were set in a frown and her eyes brewed revenge.

He could see it.

_I want to hurt him,_ she thought as her eyes lingered on Edward's defiant face._ I want him to hurt like Emmett hurts. _

But she knew that she would never be able to do the damage she wanted to with her fists alone.

Maybe knew it was wrong, that her hate was misguided and that the stranger before her deserved sympathy and care. Not her ill will and vengeance. But Emmett's seat in the cafeteria was empty. Royce was in his place and no one but Maybe seemed to care.

So she decided to hurt him with words instead.

She had the power to hurt there. Maybe's words would ring loud through the cafeteria. People would listen and he would be humiliated. Probably more so because he wouldn't be able to hear them, and the uncertainty would eat away at him, the paranoia consume him like it did most teenagers.

Oh yes, she wanted to hurt him.

But just as she was about to utter a statement she would forever regret, a voice spoke that she had never heard before.

"B-b-be nice, M-Mary A-Alice."

Shocked, her eyes snapped from Edward's face to Jasper Whitlock.

_How dare he speak to her like that? Condescending! Like a parent or something! How dare he?_

"Or what?" she taunted, her voice sounding ridiculously arrogant, defiant like a small child, even to her own ears.

Jasper recoiled inwardly, afraid now.

It was the first time Mary Alice had spoken directly to him and she was angry.

But before he could muster up the courage to form a reply, his skin burning and chest aching from the tone of her voice, she paled. Her usually peach and rosy skin drained of color, her eyes wide open, pain and fear in the bright irises, her lush, crimson lips white.

"How did you…?" she whispered, and he could see her frail body shaking.

But she didn't finish her question nor did he have time to answer. Everyone watched as she ran through the room as fast as her feet could carry her. She didn't stop until she reached her car, the rain pouring down her neck and soaking her clothes as she panted and leaned against the hood.

_How the fuck does he know my name? How the fuck does he know my name?!_***************

At the hospital, Rosalie Hale was on the phone.

"No, I don't want you to come down here. No, I said! She can keep it, I don't fucking care!"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she willed her voice to stay even and cold.

"Well, I'm not going to fucking keep the kid now, am I?!" she hissed, her throat burning like acid ran down it.

"I don't want your help, I don't need your help and if you show up here, I'll fucking tell them to throw you out! Tell her to stay put too, because I couldn't care less."

A short pause while the person in the other end of the receiver spoke his piece.

"Call me a whore one more time and I swear to God I will –"

But she was interrupted by angry screaming.

"I hope you hear your ugliness in the deafening silence that will follow the sound of the evil in your voice!" Rosalie whispered hatefully and hung up, turning off the phone and kneeling on the floor beside the incubator. She placed her hand against the Plexiglas and silently apologized to … Baby Boy Hale for every cuss word and hateful statement.

But the small, fragile body stirred within and small, pathetic cries from underdeveloped lungs sounded muffled from inside the plastic cage, breaking her heart. They cried together, she as silently as she could muster and Baby Boy Hale as loudly as his body would allow.

She kneeled and breathed air against the plastic right by the infants head, revealing the imprints that were left behind from where she had drawn a heart with her finger.

*************

Maybe skipped the rest of her school day in fear of meeting the boy again. She stopped by the gas station and wiped off her makeup with shivering hands and could barely keep her hands steady on the wheel.

The unwanted whispers followed Jasper Whitlock as he left the cafeteria the moment Maybe escaped through the doors. People simply loved the drama that this December had provided.

A deaf boy, Maybe's behavior, Emmett's thoughtless violence, Isabella and Edward's … friendship.

It was like a soap opera.

Jasper didn't come back to school that day either.

He went home and prayed.

Isabella was stunned and scared as she pulled Edward after her towards Biology when the lunch bell finally rang. But as soon as they both were seated next to each other, excitement ruled both of their emotions.

Edward was relieved that it would be more than easy to ask for help if he needed it, and Isabella was excited to have an excuse to sit so close to him.

********

Emmett fell asleep with a book on signing spread across his stomach, his right hand still clenched into a fist and his left hand still pointing, with its thumb out as he had practiced the expression "abuse" over and over again.

When Carlisle walked to his car that afternoon, his head was storming with anxious thoughts and worried predictions.

He had never, in all the years he had known Esme, kept a secret. Never once lied.

But now, through over two decades of marriage, he contemplated deceiving her for the first time.

Because what Emmett McCarty had revealed to him could quite possibly destroy her.

Of course any soul would feel guilt and despair over such a thing, that was only natural. One might even question one's own humanity if they didn't feel remorse.

But in Esme Cullen there was something gray, something dark that lurked. A past that she might never let go of completely, no matter how hard she tried. She still flinched away at times if he made a sudden movement. Even twenty years later.

No, Carlisle decided.

This was the first time he had ever wanted to deceive in order to protect. But by the love in his heart, the promise he made her at the altar, by God and the gold band on his finger that represented his devotion, he would lie to her now.

* * *

**Leave a review, it's the polite thing to do! (and I KNOW your momma taught you manners;)  
Love,  
Marie0912**


	18. Chapter 18: Sulfur

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**To all who bother: thank you.**  
**To Sydney: I adore you.**

* * *

"**_Sulfur"_**

Maybe didn't return home that afternoon.

After she had finally gotten control over her emotions, she drove to La Push beach, turned off the ignition and leaned her head against the steering wheel, tired and sad and completely lost in her own despair. Throughout her short life, there had been truly horrific days, days she would rather forget, but in the dark, in depth of her own mind, they returned to haunt her.

Her memory was horrible, but even though most images were gone, the sounds and smells and emotions stuck with her.

It was like when you hear a song, a tune or something that reminds you of something, but you can't pinpoint it, can't quite decide what it means to you, what memory it is you are suppressing, what the taste on your tongue is and exactly what it is that you are feeling or why.

The fresh mountain air was chilling the inside of her small car rapidly since she had turned off the heat. It was raining today and the waves were mixed with flakes of ice that washed up against the shore with a roaring, thundering noise. Maybe grabbed the large jacket that was conveniently lying in the backseat of her truck and stepped outside, huddled up in the large fabric that on her small body was more like a blanket.

She watched the water and tried to let the steady howling of the wind in her ears and the roaring of the washing waves lull her into a trance, but was unable to focus because of a horrible, familiar smell.

It was the smell of musk and man, something spicy that she couldn't quite place, and the soft whiff of apple blossom detergent that had her knees giving in.

How many times had she been enveloped by that smell? She couldn't even count.

The safety of the warmth that followed it was gone, but it smelled no less like Emmett.

She realized with horror that it was his jacket she was wearing. When she looked down to where she had zipped it closed, there were dry blood stains everywhere. He had taken it off that night she had driven him to the hospital and left him to his pain and misery.

Maybe buckled at the knees, hitting the gravel with harsh force that made her whimper and groan in pain.

***********

The smell of sulfur was what made him scream.

Mr. Banner had, while the students where reading about the consummation of fire and how things evaporated, lit a piece of steel wool at his desk to demonstrate what happened when fire scorched something that wouldn't disappear.

Every boy and girl stared as Edward leapt off of his chair and threw himself toward the door, tripping on backpacks and feet as he went. He was completely lost to his own nightmare and gagging as the smell and taste of objects burning reached his senses. Isabella was not far behind. She ran after him with all her might and caught him by the jacket as they reached his car, the rain soaking them and Isabella shivering in her thin sweater.

"Edward, what's the matter?" she questioned with deliberately slow movements of her lips and looking into his eyes with questioning irises.

He averted his stare and shook his head.

Edward's face was pale, his high brow clammy and his usually healthy, rose tinted cheeks white. His firm, sculpted lips were drained of color and his irises were dark, almost black.

Fear or anger.

Both.

They were standing inches apart now.

It was the most space they had deliberately put between each other all day and it made Isabella's heart clench uncomfortably. The need to feel his warmth was overwhelming. She wanted to drink in his scent and find comfort in the heat that radiated off of his body. It had become an urge that she just _had_ to satisfy, an addiction almost.

She hadn't noticed how needful she was of everything about him until that moment, when her body screamed for her to step closer and hug him.

Edward however, was in a completely different place. His focus was on the past and not the present, his heart in the Windy City and his fingers twitching for piano keys.

The smell.

Oh Lord, the smell!

Neither Carlisle or Esme smoked or had lit so much as a match in their boy's presence since that day long ago.

It was his first encounter with the past. Forced upon him, it had brought horrific flashes of heat, scents of sulfur, the fear of dying and the panic that the unexpected, inexplicable silence caused. He had been there again, in that apartment, in his room, unable to breathe, unable to hear his own screams and the air so thick with smoke that his eyes watered and burned, blinded.

How close he had been to death that day the lord only knows.

Most days, in his room with the door locked and the light on because he simply could not sleep in the dark anymore, he often lay thinking about how the biggest part of him, the only part that ever meant anything to him, had died that day. His music gone, his hearing gone, his sense of normalcy… everything lost in a matter of hours.

And how he wished that he had died right along with it.

Suddenly, he was brought out if his bitter musings and frightened mind by the touch of a cold hand on his cheek.

He looked to his left and saw her pleading eyes stare back at him, her lips shaping the words "Are you okay?" slowly.

Unthinkingly, he leaned his face further into her hand then, sighing and nodding as she continued to stroke his skin with her soft hand.

It was sudden, the shift in temperature as she touched him. The ice in her hand turned fiery hot, piercing his skin and drowning in his chest, making it swell and heave for breath. Her eyes darkened as they both took in each other's appearance, reactions, watched the rise and fall of each others' shoulders. They silently measured the other, comparing their bodies' response and reaction.

He slowly reached his hand up to cover her palm with his, his fingers tenderly tracing the delicate skin that stretched across her body and making her giggle under her breath.

The warmth continued to pool and radiate as they got lost in the new sensation and it was with reluctance that they finally broke apart.

Edward stepped a little further back to breathe something that didn't consume and drown his every sensible thought. Her natural odor and some kind of sweet, warm perfume intoxicated his brain.

He let out a breath and looked at her, his confused head tilting.

Isabella was shaking with fear and desire, every nerve on fire as she took in his face. The moss green had turned almost jade in color, his eyes wild as they raked over her.

"Did you feel that?" she whispered, almost afraid to look at him.

He caught her question and nodded his head in affirmation.

_He had felt it too._

***************

Maybe stayed at the beach until the dark enveloped her, the rain had soaked her to the bone and only sounds remained.

Emmett's jacket had been put carefully back in the car when she had finally made it to her feet again. She had placed it in the back seat again with the care of a girl with a porcelain doll.

She turned the key in the ignition and turned off the radio, wanting silence for her thoughts as she made it home to the safety of God and the four walls of her room. Her thoughts were around supper and the unfortunate task that Father Aro had to face alone since she had neglected her duties to help him this evening.

She sighed, her guilty conscience bothering her as she kept her eyes on the road and her lip between her teeth.

At a red light, a car passed in the opposite direction and illuminated the small compartment of her car. She checked her rear view mirror and caught a glimpse of the folded jacket in the backseat, the pile casting eerie shadows around in the small space.

The light turned green again without her noticing. She yelped in surprise when someone honked from behind her, alerting her to the fact that she should be stomping on the gas pedal.

She flushed with embarrassment she wouldn't usually have felt, her soul vulnerable to attacks at the moment.

Ten minutes later, she passed Forks Hospital and slammed on the breaks, made a U- turn, and nearly caused an accident as she drove into the hospital's parking lot.

"I'm just gonna return the jacket, nothing else. If he gets mad then you just ignore him and walk out. It's easy, you do it all the time…" she whispered under her breath as she grabbed Emmett's blood- stained coat and locked the door.

Her legs were shaking by the time she reached the entrance. Her eyes were focused on the nurse at her station and not on a worried, blond doctor who passed her by, mumbling under his breath as he walked through the door and contemplated if a lie truly was a lie when he was simply withholding information.

She had a feeling the visiting hours were over, and refrained from politely asking for Emmett's room number, guessing that he was probably in the same room and ward now as he had been when they brought him out of surgery.

She took the elevator two floors up and walked the hall silently, finding his door and gently knocking before she had a chance to truly think her actions through. Her mind was so well trained in protecting itself, she had almost completely forgotten the harsh words that Emmett had spoken to her over the phone, but the sound of his pained groan brought it all back to her.

He had been on the verge of tears as he had screamed curses at her, his emotions and body lashed and beaten.

Maybe pushed the door open and found him asleep, mumbling in the bed.

Standing still for a moment, she soaked up the sight of him where he lay. He was still as stone, pale and beaten, his face lashed and sore, his nose broken and the bandages peeking out around the areas where skin was exposed by either lack of covers or the loose hospital gown. He didn't look at peace, he didn't look like he felt safe, and that pained Maybe more than she could possibly say.

But he was healing. His chest was rising and falling, and that was all she had wanted to witness.

She placed the jacket on the chair in the far end of the room and turned to leave just as silently when she managed to trip over her untied laces and fall to the floor.

"Ouch!" she hissed when her palms smacked against the linoleum, scrambling to her feet hastily as the bed beside her shifted and someone sat up.

"Mary Alice…?" a disbelieving, broken croak sounded beside her.

"I'm sorry, I was just returning your jacket, Emmett," she hurriedly explained, barely above a whisper and without looking at his face.

She went for the door, but the bed creaked as he groaned. Maybe turned in time to see him trying to get out of the bed to stop her. She spun on her heel and ran to stop him, forcing him gently back on the bed as tears blinded her once more.

"What the hell are you doing?" she growled, meeting his eyes.

"Don't leave…" he begged. "Please don't leave me alone…"

His shoulders were shaking as he tried to hold back his grief and desperation.

Gasping, Maybe threw her arms around his neck in what was probably an excruciatingly painful hug, but he simply groaned and used his good arm to hug her back just as fiercely.

"I won't," she promised, whispering gently in his ear. "I won't."

* * *

**Leave a review because it's the polite thing to do! (And I know your mama taught you manners;)**

**Love,**  
**Marie0912**


	19. Chapter 19: Thank you, readers!

**Not long ago, a woman I greatly admire took initiative and set a date for an event she called "Thank you, readers".  
Today, the 28****th**** of February 2010, is the day I as a writer, along with a lot of others, show how much we appreciate you as a reader.**

**I am so grateful for all the beautiful reviews I have received, I am so happy that you enjoy my story, I am so incredibly grateful that you stick with the drama and hurt because you tie yourself to the character in the same fashion as I.**

**The reason I haven't replied to a couple of reviews has been my dedication to you, I hope you forgive me.**

**This chapter, though it might not be cheerful, is my thank you to my readers.**  
**My thank you to you.**

**I appreciate every single one of you, the lurkers, the steadfast reviewers, and the people who talk about it with their RL friends. I adore you.**

**Chapter 19: "Thank you, readers."**

**Warning: read with caution if you are easily offended.**

* * *

Not all love is the healthy kind. Some is unrequited, some is all consuming, some is obsessive and jealous, and some, the darkest kind of love, is abusing.

He only hurt her to watch her bleed or cry.

The punches were to observe the colorations and marks on her skin. The difference in shades, as it changed from one day, to another fascinated him. When he heard her scream out in pain, it nursed his ego, his sense of power, and took away all the bitter helplessness of doing a woman's job.

When he took her, it was only to hear her beg for mercy, for him to release quickly and quietly. He imagined her begging in her mind for some sort of lubricant so it wouldn't hurt so damn much. He made her look him in the eyes as he thrust harder with each whimper, and she tried very hard not to see his smiling, cruel mouth where his white teeth glimmered in the dark and reflected her face slightly.

She couldn't gaze at her own reflection anymore. Not in the mirror, in the cold glass of a window or any shiny surface, let alone his cruel face.

He tugged at her hair harshly. She screamed as he took out the delicate strands, uprooted them like unwanted garden weeds.

She made him food he didn't appreciate, changed the sheets every day because she couldn't stand his scent in the linen she slept in, cried when he left the house and longed to tell the truth every time he sent her to the hospital.

But she was so trapped.

Not by locks or doors or walls, but by her own fear, her cowering soul and the shriveling of hope. What could possibly be beyond this house, the pain and his fists?

Something better, she assumed.

But still, she let it continue. Still, she lay in the emergency room. Still, she made herself forget each nightmarish event and smile to the world.

So she deserved it, she concluded. She deserved everything she got. She wasn't fighting back. She deserved it.

If the day had been really… bad, he would slam open the outer door with such a crash that her heart would stutter and then stop for a moment. She would fidget, count his steps all while walking around herself as her eyes searched for a possible exit, an escape as he made it into the kitchen or the living room or the bedroom or the bathroom all too soon.

This time she was washing her hands when he slammed the door open.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, double step and stumble… Curse," she counted.

"Where the fuck are you?!" the icy voice demanded from below.

She cringed and ran to the bathroom door, locking it.

"Not here, not here, not here," she whispered as she sank to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest.

"Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, creaking top step, double take as he sees the bedroom door open and room empty," she chanted in a whisper. "Please… Please don't come here… don't come here…" she begged.

But he did.

A heavy fist met wood as he tried to push down the handle and found it locked.

"Open the fucking door right now or I will fucking bash your head in with the bat!" she heard him roar.

"No, no, no…" she whimpered. She couldn't. Not again.

Sometimes, sometimes it just got too much.

Her ribs where too sore and he had had her the night before last. She could still feel the bruising, the chafing inside.

Not again. Not so soon.

So the threat of death did not make her rise to her feet and unlock the door. She would welcome death like the weak soul she was. But as the door broke off its hinges with the slamming of his fists and his cruel, malicious eyes found hers, she knew that death was not going to save her yet.

He threw himself at her, pinned her down like an animal, ripped away the barrier that protected her from humiliation, pain, and shame once more and unzipped.

As fists flew and pain consumed her, he pushed inside with brutal force.

A piercing scream filled the second floor of the Cullen mansion when Carlisle closed the outer door behind him. He sprinted to their bedroom as fast as his feet would carry him, knowing the source and reason behind Esme's anguished terror at once.

He threw himself on the bed next to her and shook her hard to save her from herself, to wake her. Her eyes flew open with a final plea for mercy.

"You're safe, love, you are safe. I've got you. You are safe. Sweet Esme… Sweet baby girl… please… shhh… I have you now," he cooed in her ear. "I've got you."

Her trembling form relaxed slowly against his chest and the sobbing commenced.

This was routine. Like clockwork.

Carlisle wept right along with her, stroking her cheek with one hand and pulling at his tie with the other. He unbuttoned his shirt while cradling her face and lay her down on the mattress as soon as the trembling subsided.

He slipped off his shirt and kicked off his shoes while keeping eye contact, her eyes huge and pained and utterly helpless, lost to memories of nightmares and past. He knew what she needed to drive it all away, to forget.

When he was naked before her, he covered her body with his and kissed her until she melted against him. She buried her face in his neck and drank in the smell of him, the most comforting smell in the world, while he deftly pulled her panties down and off, leaving them around her right ankle.

He left her night gown on as he seated in between her thighs and put his hand against her as he captured her mouth, making sure she was ready to take him.

Sometimes she wasn't. He always made sure. Sometimes the ghost wouldn't leave her to him.

But she was now, her lips working against his with passion, silent tears down her face that he soon licked away with his tongue.

Swallowing her grief.

He pushed inside her gently, always careful with her, always attuned to her, always in the moment with her as she gasped and gave in to the delicious feel of him inside her. Soon everything else was chased away by his hand on her heart, her breath in his mouth. The taste of their essence mingled with their pants as they rocked back and forth in a well-known, steady rhythm. The feel of his skin against her, the brush of his stubble on her shoulder as he ground his hips in a well-practiced move that he had learned drove her dangerously close to the edge of sanity long ago.

The smell of his heady sweat and the musk that lingered in the air, scented with both their arousal consumed them as every thought was ground to this moment, to love and to the thrusts, the penetration, the friction and overwhelming heat and feel of their bodies connecting.

"That's it baby … that's it… I can feel you," he whispered in her ear, his voice rough with restraint, his breath washing over her neck, his stubble against her cheek, the insistent movement of his hips.

"Cum for me, love. Let me feel you," he begged unnecessarily and gave a particularly hard thrust as he kissed her neck on the delicate skin right above the beat of her rapid pulse, feeling it tickling his lips and stuttering violently as she whimpered and sank her teeth into his shoulder to muffle the screams.

Tight contractions and a rush of wet heat enveloped him as her legs grew limp and fell from his waist to the mattress.

"I love you," she promised, her lips above his own as he released and grunted, eventually collapsing on top of her sweat slicked body.

"Forever," Carlisle promised with a kiss on her forehead, her fear forgotten as she found rest and peace in his arms.

"How was your day, my love?" she inquired when she finally caught her breath, reveling in the safety of his heavy body almost crushing her. She felt so protected from the world.

"Just fine, my love. Just fine…" he lied.

Because he had to.

* * *

**I would love a review if you don't mind;)**

**Marie0912**


	20. Chapter 20: Golden oldies

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.I am so sorry about the delay, real life called and wanted input.**

**Also, my email screwed with me so very few received a reply to their review this time.**  
**I am so sorry about that! I have, however read and enjoyed every single one when I finally was able to locate them!**  
**Thanks to Sydney and Marcie and every single one who reads and reviews, welcome to the new ones, and a special thank you to the wonderful Icy Cold for reviewing what seems like every chapter, but sadly, I don't think she received a single reply in return.**

**That's enough of my rambling.**  
**On with it.**

* * *

On December 12th, Carlisle had the day off work. He took his wife and son Christmas shopping with him in Seattle.

Edward had insisted on bringing Isabella though, if she wanted to go. Of course the girl had texted him her willingness to participate with eager smileys and exclamation points.

Carlisle had taken the wheel and Esme sat beside him in the front seat, her hand resting over his on the gear shift, slightly clammy while her right hand fidgeted with a loose thread in her knitted scarf. She was usually like this the day after a breakdown as bad as the one she had had the previous evening. Second guessing herself, her worth and his love for her, her own safety and every mistake she had made.

Carlisle eventually removed his hand from under hers and stroked her cheek gently, his eyes speaking the words he couldn't say out loud in front of Isabella.

And besides, the two had taken to communicating silently ever since Edward had lost his hearing.

It was effortless.

He roamed around in the compartment between them and found a broken CD cover with a single, unmarked CD inside. It was self made. Carlisle had burned it for his wife long ago.

He put it in the car's CD player and found Eric Clapton's live version of "Wonderful Tonight." It was one of their songs and Esme visibly relaxed in her seat as the lyrics were sung, Carlisle gently humming along beside her and then grinning when he saw his wife's cheeks tint red, knowing where her thoughts were.

How many times they had made love to that song, neither were able to count.

As they drove on, Elvis ballads and seventies and eighties romantic goo remained their soundtrack throughout the journey. Esme knew every line to "Islands in the Stream" and, though he would never admit it, so did Carlisle.

Amy Winehouse's version of "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?" had Carlisle's lip twitching as soon as it came on. Esme rushed to change the song before the kids in the backseat noticed how her rapid pulse and labored breathing had managed to work up an impressive blush.

What the man next to her had done to her on a rug in front of a searing fireplace to that song still made her shiver with delight.

Carlisle smiled and let his mind wander to jewelry stores and potential gifts for his love, having succeeded in taking her mind away from the dark places it had tried to reach.

Esme took to watching Isabella's face in the rear view mirror every now and again, noticing her altering between worrying her lip and staring out the window or glancing at Edward's serene face. She would blush beautifully each time Esme's baby boy caught her staring, like young girls do when they gaze upon the object of their desire and affection, when they are crushing on a man, on a boy, for the very first time, when they are falling hard and unable to stop it.

And every time they would both look away swiftly, a glorious smile playing at the corner of both sets of lips as they pretended to pay attention to the sights and the world beyond the car and not the person sitting beside them.

But Esme knew, like all lovers do when observing the beautiful dance of two people falling, that their hands were touching on the seat between them.

And indeed they were.

Isabella inched it to the middle of the seat in the space between Edward and herself with a hopeful skip of her heart. Just as she was about to withdraw it with disappointment, his palm hesitantly and gently covered hers.

She grasped a hold of it, lacing their fingers and feeling his palm just as sweaty as hers, both smiling as he gently caressed her with his fingers.

She tried to suppress the urge to giggle, and succeeded for about an hour into the joining of their inexperienced hands, but when Carlisle hit a bump in the road that had them all weightless in the air for a moments time, Edward squeezed her hand like his life depended on it. Their eyes caught and when he saw her untroubled smile and humor, he grinned widely and blushed at his own reaction, making Isabella burst out in a fit of snickering giggles as she gently stroked the skin on top of his hand.

All through the drive she felt his thumb move to an unknown rhythm against her skin and it made her smile wider.

Though Esme and Carlisle were playing music from their youth, enjoying the sounds and words, and Isabella along with them, Edward did not feel left out. He had his own music now and it kept time to the rhythm of his heart.

It didn't have words yet though, but every time Isabella smiled, the lyrics became clearer.

_Almond warmth and subtle beauty, home and the taste of sun, she leaves him without speech. It makes you start to think that maybe, forever is within your reach._

They spent the day shopping, both Edward and Isabella with money that wasn't strictly theirs though, since neither had jobs.

Isabella's mother knew her daughter would never ask, so she slipped a fifty dollar bill in her daughter's wallet without a word. She would adore it if she received mixed CDs and art and homemade Christmas cookies in baskets adorned with ribbons that her daughter had braided herself, but she also had a feeling that her little girl had someone extra to buy a gift for this year, someone special.

Granted, a homemade gift, something crafted would be just the thing for her sweetheart. It might be the memory that would adorn a future mantle piece, but Renee knew her daughter well enough to realize Isabella would never settle for cookies and braided ribbons for Edward Cullen.

She would just have to learn for herself that the price didn't count, it was the thought behind the action that did.

Isabella and Edward were set loose in the mall on their own as soon as Carlisle parked, both with a skip in their step that Esme pointed out with a nudge of her elbow in her husband's side. They both shared an affectionate and heated gaze as their eyes met, young love taking them back to years long ago when their own love was new and strange and terrifying.

Isabella found the brand new bill in her wallet when she went through it searching for change so she could buy Edward and herself a drink, not knowing that the boy next to her already had the money ready in the hand he hid in his pocket.

She squealed loudly and Edward noticed the change in her demeanor, as well as people staring and snapped his head around to look at her. She was holding the fifty dollar bill in her hand with eyes that were large and round with glee and surprise.

She was never one to care about wealth - material things didn't matter to her - but her eyes darted over to a pair of moss green ones as a smile adorned her face. She knew who she was going to spend her small fortune on.

As they roamed the mall, wordlessly pointing out the store they wanted to enter, blushed profusely when they passed the sex shop, and shared a bag of Skittles, Edward finally decided that any space between them was too wide. He grasped her hand and kept it in his until his father dropped her off at the Swan residence many, many hours later.

****

At the Forks hospital, a boy with dark curls and troubled features clutched his covers like they were the only thing protecting him from the world. He was shaking underneath the blankets and the nurse thought he was feverish until she took his temperature and realized that was not the case.

He was having a panic attack.

The boy refused to respond and explain, and the doctors saw no other way than to sedate him.

Hours later, in the dark, he lay with glassy eyes and slow thoughts, gazing into the nothingness and hearing sounds but not quite interpreting them for what they were. Words were spoken around him, outside the door and nothing made sense.

He turned fretfully, half asleep and let a hand pat around on the small space beside him where Mary Alice had spent hours the night prior, but vaguely remembered a man clad in black trousers and a light blue cardigan come to get her when the clock reached midnight.

He had walked her out of the room after she placed a gentle kiss to his forehead and both had let silent tears flow once they were out of each others' sight.

In a ward on the floor below lay a beautiful girl on her bed, feigning stomach aches and whimpering pitifully.

The nurse on call saw it for what it was, but didn't call her on it.

She didn't have the heart.

Rosalie Hale was not ready to be discharged just yet. There was a baby boy with her last name in a room with incubators and beeping, scary noises and strangers and medicine and things she couldn't even begin to understand. All she knew was that if it was her frail body fighting for survival, she would have wanted someone close by to fog up the glass that held her trapped and paint little hearts with a finger.

As the day came to an end, the light fading in the east and a steady drizzle of rain pouring, Emmett started gaining consciousness, the drug draining from his system. He gazed through the window and found only dark and wet. It looked no different to him now than it had through his eighteen years on this earth, in this town.

"Happy birthday, Emmett," he whispered to himself, feeling nothing but cold inside.

He limped carefully over to bed cot again, pushed the covers out of the way, placed his head on the rumpled up pillow and let out a sigh of defeat and pain.

He wanted to sleep and never wake up.

Just as his eyes closed, he felt more than heard the door creek open.

Assuming the nurse was there for the hundredth time to check on his vitals, he tried to ignore it and sleep again, but when he felt a cold palm on his cheek, he turned so fast he all but screamed in pain, feeling broken, healing bones shift and stitches stretch.

Squinting in the dark, he found Mary Alice's face hovering above him.

"Hi," she whispered with a sad smile, looking very regretful and pained as she had probably scared him into hurting himself.

She found the light switch on Emmett's nightstand and switched it on with a swift flick of nimble hands.

"What are you . . .?"

Emmett tried to get up but Mary Alice stopped him, putting a gentle palm on his chest and making him lie back down. She found the remote to the bed and adjusted it so he was in a sitting position without strain.

"There," she smiled a little, although her sweet eyes still looked sad.

Bending over, she retrieved something out of a brown paper bag on the floor. She placed it on the night stand next to him and Emmett turned to see it was a cupcake with a single birthday candle in the middle.

Mary Alice lit it with a match and snickered as they both looked around for the smoke detector, feeling paranoid at being caught.

"I can only stay an hour or so Em, but . . ." She sighed and smiled more genuinely, holding the cupcake out, close to his face. "Happy Eighteenth Birthday . . . my friend. Make a wish."

The flame flickered and died. A wish was made and sent out into the universe, a friendship that had been long denied was renewed and stronger, and the town of Forks had another inhabitant that was officially a legal adult.

Happy Birthday, Emmett McCarty.

* * *

**Your mama taught you manners so leave a review; it's the polite thing to do.**

**Marie0912**


	21. Chapter 21: Housecalls

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Sydney, you are a irreplaceable and simply wonderful Beta, thank you so much!**

**A/N: there are no excuses, I know I have taken a hell of a long time.**  
**The plot of Rosalie is complicated and I have spent quite some time trying to figure out exactly what her past is.**  
**It finally came to me, and I am walking a path that I don't think holds many clichés but that remains to see.**  
**I had intended to dedicate this chapter to Jasper, but found inspiration taking me elsewhere.**

**To all who reads and waits patiently; thank you.**

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When she was little, like so many other girls, her favorite thing in the world to do, her one passion, was to play with dolls. They came in every possible size and shape and theme; porcelain ones with pretty painted faces, hair made from yarn and old fashioned dresses sewn to their bodies. There were dolls made purely out of fabric, or corn dolls and hand puppets.

Then there were these little ones, plastic through and through, their small bodies no more than a handful. Some wet their little diapers when she bottle fed them water. There were Barbie dolls – which she hated with a passion - there were all kinds of Polly Pockets with shiny colors and accessories that adjoined them on purchase such as purses, lipstick, and hair accessories in bright colors. The dolls themselves dressed up in provocatively short dresses and skirts, keeping with the whole theme of the Barbie or whatever rip-off replacement if you couldn't afford the actual, expensive things. They were designed to change little girls' focus, bring up the subject of sex and body fixation far too soon and force them to grow up all too fast.

But her favorite doll, the one doll she wanted so desperately, the one item she would put on the very top of her Christmas list every year even before world peace and Prince Charming, was a Baby Born Doll.

It was beautiful; the perfect imitation of an actual infant, all soft latex and perfect blue eyes that closed as if sleeping when you lay it on its back. If you fed it or gave it a bottle, it had to use the potty afterwards, just like a real baby. It even cried real tears.

It was all pinkness, an armful to an eight year old girl, with all sorts of different clothes and accessories that had nothing whatsoever to do with sex and makeup and bodies. It was even a little roundish, like a baby should be: plump and dimply and perfect.

And one Christmas, the year she turned nine, her grandmother took mercy on her grandchild and bought her the damn doll.

On the card it said "From Grandma" though, and not "From Santa Claus," like it did on most kids Christmas cards.

Rosalie Lillian Hale had never liked or believed in Santa Claus.

She had unwrapped the large square package with trembling fingers, her large eyes full of hesitant enthusiasm, afraid to be hopeful for something that she was not sure she would get. But when the frail Christmas wrapping was torn in shreds, and the pink and white cardboard prison that held a brand new Baby Born Doll was revealed, her rounded and amazed eyes filled and brimmed over with tears of joy.

A baby. She had a baby.

She struggled so hard, almost in desperation, to tear the package open. When she had managed to free the doll from its confinements, the accessories and fancy food and pink plastic potty and spoons and diapers and pacifiers be damned, she hugged the little thing to her body with such affection that had there been anyone in the room to witness, they would have experienced an unbearable heartache at the sight.

Because every human being knows affection, every human being feels the draw to hug and caress, knows the comfort that warmth provides in the darkness. And every human being knows what neglect and abandon looks like.

As the snow fell thickly outside Rosalie's hospital window, she thought back to each birthday and Christmas after that one. Each time, her grandmother sent a new outfit or accessory that belonged to that doll in particular. The little latex infant had more clothes than Rosalie did herself at one point, even though Grandma Hale never knew. But she adored each and every one, the little blue onesies and all the white, pink, green, pretty, not to mention the knitted outfits that her grandma made. Perfect and small for a perfect and small doll in a perfect and small world where the horrors of past and mistakes of the future had yet to haunt her, where the universe revolved around her pretty little doll, and her or his – depending on the day and her mood - pretty little clothes, feeding, and putting it in its makeshift crib to sleep.

She thought of lost childhood and lost happiness, ignoring the ringing phone on the nightstand. Eventually, she made her way to the part of the maternity ward where Baby Boy Hale was hopefully sleeping soundly, unable to resist being in his presence any longer.

She wore only socks as she padded silently through the halls. Night had fallen upon Forks many hours ago and the halls were barely illuminated as she walked.

Gentle, dimmed light shone in the small room where the premature baby was resting. She pushed the door open carefully, trying desperately to be silent so as not to wake anyone. She found his pink and slightly blue form asleep, ignoring the tubes and instruments that surrounded and were attached to him, only taking in his face and the worn baby blanket they had wrapped him in.

The little piece of fabric that shielded his body was white with dark blue and red stripes, the incredibly small thing wearing only a diaper underneath.

"Why don't you have clothes, my baby?" she whispered in horrified realization.

Why on earth didn't her baby have clothes?

Her baby.

_Oh God_.

"No…" a strangled sob escaped her as soon as the thought entered her mind.

Her baby.

"No!"

The loud sound of his mother's verbal objections woke Baby Boy Hale from his fretful nap at once, and his screams filled the room.

"No, no, no…"

It was all so wrong. Guilt washed over her as her ears were deafened with the agony in the small baby's cry for comfort.

Before she could even think about what she was doing, Rosalie turned on her heel and ran out of the room. She began packing her belongings together in a hurry, throwing random objects and clothes into a plastic bag.

She was through the hospital doors and out of sight before ten minutes had passed, sneaking past the nurses' station in an effort to get away quickly.

But as the hours dragged on and the walls of her cold, empty house were closing in on her, despair became the dominant emotion. It was the only thing she was able to focus on.

In a state of complete numbness, Rosalie walked into the dusty attic and started roaming around in old cardboard boxes, searching for lost treasures and some sort of balm for her aching soul.

Finally, after God knows how many hours spent breathing in the dust and digging through the completely unorganized mess that was the storage space of her house, she found the box she was looking for.

With trembling fingers, so very much alike the first time she had unwrapped a package to find the object that she so much desired inside, Rosalie Hale opened the box and found a little Baby Born doll inside. It was dirty and well-worn, but treated with affection nonetheless. Every smudge and scratch made out traces of an old and well known path she had once walked.

She hugged the little plastic object tightly to her chest for a while then, feeling tears welling in her eyes as regret filled her chest. Loud, uncontrolled sobs escaped her as tears of sorrow trickled down her cheeks in steady streams, her hands feeling at the size of her doll feebly, a part of her shocked and terrified when realizing that the doll that once had felt so big and sturdy in her arms now felt ridiculously small.

And her son, her baby in the hospital, was even smaller.

How could he even survive?

There were no guarantees.

Her baby. Her son. There it was again. The thought entered her mind before she could stop herself, the title so natural in her head and so right on her lips.

After what felt like yet another lifetime, she opened her eyes and let them gaze downward at the box she had just unsealed to find one of the few treasures from her childhood. It took almost thirty seconds for her mind to grasp what her eyes observed, but when she did, Rosalie dropped the beloved doll she had been holding to the floor with a thud.

"No!" came the horrified whisper in the dusty silence that filled the air around her.

The box with all the doll's treasured clothes had been turned into a mice's nest, everything ruined, eaten or soiled.

"Oh my God, no!"

She picked helplessly at the ruined things, priceless to her, and found some even so ruined that the fabric dissolved in her hands. She turned away then, unable to look at the content any longer, and sat down next to the doll she had dropped.

Picking it up again, she cradled the small thing gently in her arms and felt new tears surface as she looked at the worn thing.

"I dropped you," she whispered, a finger touching the cheek of the toy's face, light as a feather. "I dropped you to the floor. What kind of mother does that?"

She tried to rationalize, tried to justify, tried to tell herself that it was just a doll, but in her mind, she had dropped her baby.

It was unforgivable.

"Who drops their baby? What if you had been him? Who drops their baby?"

Sob after helpless sob wracked her body, an endless stream of tears down her cheeks as she was literally drowning in her own despair.

"Hello? Miss Hale?"

Rosalie sat, as if frozen or glued to the floor, completely silent. She heard the heavy and distinct steps of a grown male coming closer.

Suddenly, she was blinded by the light streaming through the doorway as Doctor Carlisle Cullen appeared before her, holding a first aid kit in his left hand.

His posture was tense and his brow creased with worry, but when he took in Rosalie, healthy and well on the dusty floor, he let out a breath and his expression relaxed visibly.

They stared at each other for the longest time, both waiting for the other to act. But when the girl didn't make a move to stand up, speak or send him away, Doctor Cullen stepped closer until he was beside her and quietly sat down.

The sound of the girl's unsteady breathing filled the room, accompanied by his own, calming. steady breaths until Carlisle decided to break the silence, digging through his right hand pocket for something.

He fished out a tin with Altoids and held it out to her.

"Breath mint?" Carlisle asked politely, giving the box a gentle shake so it gave off a rattling sound in the quiet, so loud after so much silence that it was all but echoing off the walls.

Rosalie's teary eyes snapped up from where she had been focusing on a spot in the wall to his gentle and handsome face, her brow creasing in confusion and her full lips pursing in suspicion.

_Never take candy from strangers, _her mother had always taught her. The thought made her snort out loud, and Carlisle to frown at her.

Her mother had also taught her how to mix Gin and Tonic at age four.

Spitefully, she reached out and opened the packet she had been offered, taking out the hard candy and popping it in her mouth, muttering a thank you under her breath that she wasn't sure Doctor Cullen even caught.

But he had, and he smiled at her in a way that no man had ever done, with warm affection and care.

It made her chest ache with a completely different emotion, one she couldn't quite put her finger on. She suppressed it before she was able to examine it closer, fearing that her frail body didn't have room enough for more turbulence at this point.

"So, young lady," Carlisle said in a tone of voice that held the perfect volume and melody for silent rooms and crackling tension, "why are we here?" he questioned lightly.

There was no accusation in Carlisle's voice, no sign of anger or hidden emotions that made Rosalie wary.

She was relieved and chanced a swift look sideways at his face, before turning back to look at the spot in the wall again.

Minutes passed and Doctor Cullen changed his sitting position so that his legs were straight out. What looked like a very pricy suit was getting dust and dirt all over it, but he didn't seem to care. He popped an Altoid into his mouth silently, just waiting.

For what though?

For her? To say something?

_Ha!_ Rosalie thought with defiance. He was getting nothing out of her.

But why was he here?

She peeked up at his face every now and again, watching his relaxed features staring at the wall on the opposite end of the room, just as she had been. But every time she looked his way, he slowly turned his face to meet her eyes, smiling calmly with warmth and patience, like he had nothing in the world to do, nothing he would rather be spending his time doing than sitting next to Rosalie on the dusty floor of her attic.

It was strangely relaxing to her nerves. The presence of his body beside hers had a calming effect as his manners, his body language spoke of nothing but serene calm.

"You're the new kid's father…"

Rosalie was surprised at the way her mouth had suddenly decided to open and spew out words. She was usually not a small talker.

In the same calm way, Carlisle withdrew his eyes from the wall and took in her face with gentle eyes which color was impossible to decide in the shadows and darkness.

"Yes, did you get a chance to meet my Edward?" he asked, smiling warmly down at her, a hint of dimple in his cheeks as he spoke. His eyes didn't even linger as they fell to her lap where she was still clutching her doll with whitening knuckles.

"I saw him," Rosalie confided. "But we never spoke. There was a lot happening that day with…"

She stopped herself from finishing her train of thought, uncertain about whether or not Carlisle knew about Emmett McCarty hitting his son, not wanting to be the one to give him bad news or upset him.

It was so serenely calm when he sat beside her like that, just breathing and being warm and silent.

"Yes," Carlisle nodded in affirmation and it was with regret that she saw a shadow pass fleetingly across his face before it was gone again, making the air shift a little, just to alert her to his discomfort before it passed and became neutral ground once more.

Emmett's name left a bad taste on both sets of tongues, but for quite different reasons, Rosalie's aftertaste far more bitter than Carlisle's.

It was silent again for a while and Rosalie jumped when Doctor Cullen's cell phone started ringing, but found herself surprised once more when he turned it off without even looking at the display to see who was calling.

Right now, nothing in the world mattered but her and Rosalie had never felt so incredibly special.

Which, granted, was quite sad.

Her affection towards this man kept on growing as she silently counted all the reasons why the man beside her deserved so much better than resting his derrière on the dusty floor of her attic. He had saved her life, he had saved her baby, he had made Rosalie eat dinner two days in a row when she refused to swallow anything. He had held her hand the first time she visited the bathroom after she gave birth, since the nurse was unavailable. He had even tried, over and over, to convince Rosalie to go visit her son, not knowing that she did every night when no one was there to witness her fall apart.

And here he was again, checking up on her, making sure she was alright. Or so she assumed.

"I dropped him," she suddenly whispered in the dark, watching from the corner of her eye as Doctor Cullen's stare shifted from the wall to her lap where her trembling hands fidgeted with her doll.

Slowly, he reached out and put a hand over the one she rested on the doll's naked stomach.

"He will be alright, Rosalie," Carlisle said with calm conviction. Both knew he was not speaking of the doll.

"But what kind of mother…?" Her voice held unshed tears, her question ringing unfinished and despair making her bow her head forward in shame.

"Rosalie, look at me," Carlisle commanded gently, letting the hand that had warmed her own over the doll's body rise to lift her chin with a gentle finger.

She allowed the motion without fight or even flinching and her blue, sorrowful eyes met his.

"He will be alright. You haven't hurt him. You gave him life."

Calm, serene, complete conviction in every word. He truly believed the words he spoke, she could feel it. But that didn't change anything.

"But he nearly died! I nearly killed him! I can't even give birth right!"

Her voice was barely a whisper, and in the air hung once again the unspoken thought that the good doctor didn't need ears to hear.

_I don't want him. I didn't want him. I said I didn't want him._Instead of meaningless, trivial, empty words, Carlisle put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a gentle hug.

"I know, honey… I know," he whispered soothingly, rubbing her back ever so gently until she relaxed.

Yet another silence followed and then she moved away to reach into the box of ruined doll accessories, pulling out something with little yellow ducks. A onesie.

"I thought that…" she took a calming breath. "I remembered that I had…" A single tear ran down her left cheek. "He wasn't wearing any clothes and I thought they would maybe fit," she finally whispered, closing her eyes as she fisted the ruined fabric tightly.

"Oh," Carlisle gave an understanding nod but said nothing else.

It was quite common to buy Baby Born outfits for preemies, this was a well known fact. He wanted to applaud the young girl's logic.

"But they are all ruined and…" she was not about to spend any another dime of the blood money in her bank account and certainly not on the newborn baby who, in spite of everything, was sin-free and should remain so.

"Ah," Carlisle nodded again, silently sharing her regret. There was nothing to add.

Almost two hours later, mostly spent in silence, Doctor Cullen managed to coax Rosalie up off the floor.

"I want to keep you under observation if you don't mind," he said with a gentle smile, his eyes twinkling. "I think you may be a little anemic."

He winked at her.

They walked through the foyer and Carlisle stopped to look around for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

He had expected neglectfulness and absence from her parents, but looking around, it didn't seem that any adult had lived in this home for quite some time.

"If you don't mind me asking, where are your parents Rosalie?" Carlisle dared.

His steps had halted as he took in a very impersonal living room with brown furniture.

But Rosalie had kept on walking to the door and opened it – she didn't like observing the emptiness as she passed each room.

"I don't have any parents," she shrugged.

When Doctor Cullen continued to look confused, she elaborated.

"I never knew my father and my mother died of liver failure a little over a year ago," she shrugged.

"But…" Carlisle frowned, squinting his eyes in confusion. _Why aren't you in the foster system?_ he wondered to himself.

Rosalie saw this and shrugged again.

"When Grandma Hale died just three months after, being my caretaker, I asked for and was granted emancipation," she told him. "I can take care of myself."

She flinched as she blurted out that statement and turned her face away defiantly when Carlisle pursed his lips. She walked to his Mercedes without a second look at him.

"Yes, I can see that," Doctor Cullen whispered the sarcastic comment to the collar of his shirt.

****

Rosalie was asleep, her dreams for once not dark and disturbing, but rather soothing when a stranger with long, caramel curls silently opened the door to her room and put a inconspicuous plastic bag on the end of her bed and then tip toed back through the door without waking her.

When she woke and looked in the bag, Rosalie Hale found the tiniest, sweetest little onesies and the tiniest little socks, barely the size of the pad of her thumb, the smallest little baby caps and beanies, some of them even had a recognizable Baby Born tag. Others were of other brands and most were specially designed, she could tell, by the fit and fabric quality.

But - she realized as she felt around the bag and inspected the clothing that smelled fresh and clean – none of the articles in the bag were new.

Rosalie Hale was not the first woman in Forks to give birth to a premature baby.

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	22. Chapter 22: Love Letters

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Hi again, readers! There will be an A/U at the end of the following chapter.  
I would love if you took the time to read when you are done.  
A few thoughts and well- earned thank-you's will be found there.**

RomanceMary and RomanticVamp11 - you are the bestest betas ever!

**And without further ado…**

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"Love letters"

The luxury of perspective and wisdom is only granted those who have walked this earth for a while. Some are never granted this gift, too stuck in their narrow-mindedness, old routines or just too afraid to look beyond their noses, but there are those lucky ones that take knowledge and experiences from the lessons life teach them. They grow and mold their children into more prepared, kind creatures.

Mrs. Flannery had been lovely when she was young.

She had been blond, beautiful and charismatic. The boys adored her, tugged at her pigtails, and chased her around the school yard.

But popularity had had its price. And sadly Susan Flannery, like most girls, had been willing to pay it. If you become popular, someone else will have to be at the bottom of the food chain, playing the complete opposite role.

The cruel things she had whispered about those she believed lesser than her in some way, or simply because she envied their smarts or their confidence or something else entirely, weighed heavily on her mind. She knew she had cost them a lot of happiness. She knew that her own sense of self worth and pride had come to her at the price of someone else's. She knew that it had hurt them.

She was a much wiser woman now, of course, but also, from time to time, filled with regret.

Some never grow out of the persona they take on in high school, the placement, the rank that they are given when young and easily influenced.

But Susan Flannery grew out of this persona very fast, sobered up by the car crash that was falling in love with Darren Flannery. He had been the school geek and, tragically enough, a victim of her not-so-innocent bullying and practical jokes.

Her easy breeze had come at the cost of his happiness and dignity. This was something she still had trouble forgiving herself for even though Darren forgave her the moment she offered to be his first kiss.

When she was young, she wanted to be a super model, an actor or someone famous and rich and even more popular. Darren dreamt of becoming a fireman. But, as fate would have it, Susan became a teacher, her husband a plumber, and happy contentment such as theirs is still as rare and beautiful to behold as a pearl in the mud.

Her work brought her joy that she never thought possible and strong protective instincts for the children she watched grow and evolve into stunning people with great potential, broad minds and as few prejudices as possible. She spent all her days teaching not only algebra and American History and grammar, but also respect and understanding. The children couldn't help but adore her in return.

At the tender age of six, a scrawny little boy walked into her classroom in baggy overalls and a red Mickey Mouse t-shirt, his bright blue eyes wide with fear and worry as he found his seat right at the front of her desk.

Susan Flannery adored the beginning of each new school year, seeing new little faces before her. She loved the wonder in their eyes as she taught them the "magic" multiplication tables and the joy every time she declared it was time for recess.

She wrote her full name on the blackboard, her entire being radiating enthusiasm as she made them each stand and introduce themselves to the class.

Little had Mrs. Flannery known that this seemingly innocent act would be the first brick in Jasper Whitlock's wall of shame and fear.

"J-J-Jasper W-Wh-Whitlock," the boy in the red Mickey Mouse t-shirt forced out as he nervously fidgeted with the blond curls on the back of his neck, his skin flushing red with shame as twenty six children laughed.

Through all the years she had the pleasure of being his teacher, he never did connect with any of his fellow students. He spent free time reading or drawing in a corner by himself.

A beautiful May day, six years later, Susan Flannery found Jasper Whitlock in her classroom crying.

"What on earth is the matter?" she asked as she rushed over to him, tilting his chin up so she could look at his face.

Never, in all the years she had known him, had she ever seen the boy cry.

He was clutching a note in his fist with knuckles strained and white, his eyes pained as they both gazed down.

"May I see?" Susan asked gently, her chest tightening in fear of what she might find.

Nodding reluctantly, he unclenched his fist and allowed the paper to be removed from his limp grasp.

Her stomach plunged as she read a sheet of paper that had clearly been passed around the classroom between giggly girls. She had seen him scribbling furiously on something in class today, but had learned over the years that it was pointless to ask Jasper to share anything with the class, so she had let it be.

It was a love letter.

"Oh, Jasper . . . this is beautiful," Mrs. Flannery insisted with a gentle stroke of a finger down his tear streaked cheek.

"Y-you think s-so?" he whispered hopefully, his hands twitching and trembling as if he really wanted the sheet of paper back.

"Yes," she assured him. "Don't listen to what anyone else says, Jasper. A love letter is the most romantic gift a girl can ever receive. And whomever this note is destined for, she is very lucky to have you. If you have the courage to make loving thoughts into loving words for someone to hear, you are braver than most people I know. And to this someone special, those words might mean the world."

Jasper Whitlock beamed as he tucked the sheet of crumpled paper away in his right hand pocket and left the classroom with a backpack thrown carelessly over one shoulder, tripping on his laces as he went.

Susan Flannery went home that day feeling both hopeful and frightened for the young man, praying that he didn't get his heart broken.

Jasper, on the other hand, went with renewed courage to recite what he had written for the only woman he would ever willingly read out loud to.

_"I w-w-w-wouldn't t-trade you for anything. N-n-not for all th-th-the flowers in the f-f-field behind Samson's f-farm, n-not for all the stars in h-heaven. You are p-p-pretty and so b-b-beautiful, and you are so s-s-s-smart and nice. Wh-when it's night, I d-d-dream of you and of h-h-hugging you. When i-i-it's d-day, I wish you w-w-were with me a-and next t-t-to me. You m-make me laugh with funny j-j-jokes and the f-faces you make when you d-d-drink sour lemonade. You smell l-l-l-like home and pie and p-perfume and something else a-and I miss that smell all the time. Is it m-m-maybe a perfume p-perhaps? I want my p-p-pillow to smell like y-y-you so I don't miss you so m-much when you aren't there. I miss you when you aren't here. Wh-when you c-c-c-cry and s-s-s-scream, I cry too. You are in m-my p-p-p-prayers every day, even b-before I eat something. P-p-please come back to me.  
I miss you."_

It was spoken with such feeling, such emotion, that the nurse on call had to leave the room so as not to show the brimming tears in her eyes.

Jasper's wide, blue eyes gazed into a pair of beautiful hazel brown ones with hopeful pride, his gangly stature suddenly very straight and formal. She squinted at him and then shook her head in exasperation, turning to face the man behind Jasper instead.

"Who is this boy, Peter?" she demanded of her husband.

Peter Whitlock cringed visibly and placed a nervous hand on his son's shoulder.

"Char, this is your son," he told her in a soft, but stern voice.

Charlotte squinted once again as she looked Jasper up and down.

"That is not my Jamie!" she insisted, appalled that her husband could even think of making the comparison.

With a sad shake of the head, Peter confirmed this.

"No, it is not Jamie, my love. Jamie died years ago, you remember that…"

His voice held unshed tears, but was still gentle, like the voice one uses to speak with an errant child. The patience and understanding that his heart still held, the faith he had, both in the Lord and in her, even now, was astounding.

"Oh…" Charlotte withdrew from the world again, her eyes blank as she refused to remember what her husband was referring to.

Jasper's eyes held nothing but confusion as his mother once again refused to recognize him.

"Momma . . . ?" he tried carefully, his voice small and vulnerable in the silence of the visiting room at Saint Florence's Mental Care Facility.

Suddenly, Charlotte snapped her head up from where she had been staring at something dirty on the floor and turned piercing, fiery eyes on her husband.

"I told you never to bring him here again, Peter! I told you I never want him in my presence again! Take him the fuck out of here! Get him as far away from me as possible if you love me at all! I never want to see him here again!"

Jasper stood on trembling legs as his mother broke his heart.

"Charlotte, please! Please be sensible!" Peter tried to reason with her, walking closer, intending to put a hand on her shoulder, but she stood before he had the chance.

"No, Peter! You be sensible! _You _have to be sensible!" she screamed. "Or do you have _another_ son to spare?"

The orderlies came through the door before Peter had a chance to reply, but they both knew the answer to that question.

In the days that followed, Jasper could find no comfort, but eventually the tears dried and he shut himself away instead. How he missed his mother. No matter the words spoken, no matter how long she had been gone. He missed her more than he missed James, and that was saying something.

And so he begged and begged his father to bring him back to see her.

There were threats and tantrums and promises and gifts and sacrifices made that had Peter Whitlock breaking into tears. Jasper would sacrifice his allowance, his Saturday treats, his favorite toy car and every worldly possession to be with his mother again.

And, as Charlotte Whitlock had known, in a last flash of what could be called sanity, Peter Whitlock would never have the strength to refuse their son if he begged long enough.

The day Peter Whitlock finally gave in and agreed to take Jasper to see his mother again after school was the same day that he received a phone call regarding his wife's passing.

She had taken her own life with the intention of protecting her son's.

_An eye for an eye, as the Bible called it._

Heartbroken, all but robbed of their faith and of everything sane that held them to this earth, father and son, Peter and Jasper, buried their beloved mother and wife in a grave next to their son and brother.

Not a month later, Peter Whitlock received word of the passing of a priest in a congregation in a town called Forks, Washington. He didn't even think twice about applying for the job. Within a few weeks, they were on a plane and leaving their grief behind them.

Or trying to, at least.

Jasper was an inconsolable boy from that day on, his faith broken and his heart just as torn. His father was in just as much pain. The loss of his lover, the loss of one of his children and very soon, the loss of his faith had him on his knees.

But suddenly, through all that pain and suffering, planets aligned in their universe. A new destiny formed and a girl that desperately needed help sought God's forgiveness for sins that did not belong to her.

Jasper was brutally brought out of his own, catatonic state of grief by that of another.

Together, father and son moved heaven and earth to save and protect her. Jasper's pain was dulled, though hardly erased, by the car crash that was falling in love with Mary Alice Brandon.

She became his light, his obsession, his right in a world so full of wrong.

_And she didn't have the slightest idea._

The boy tried very hard to leave every memory of his former home and town behind him. He let all the people become a blur of colors and shadows of a dark past. But one person stuck with him, one memory would not let go, and that was the memory of Mrs. Susan Flannery.

"_A love letter is the most romantic gift a girl can ever receive. And whomever this note is destined for, she is very lucky to have you. If you have the courage to make loving thoughts into loving words for someone to hear, you are braver than most people I know. And to this someone special, those words might mean the world."_

And that was how, every month on the sixteenth (unless it was on a weekend), a love note, something special with little words of affection and devotion, found its way into Mary Alice's locker at school.

It had been the sixteenth of June, the first day he had seen her in that church.

On December sixteenth, the last day before school let out and Christmas vacation started, Jasper Whitlock walked the halls of Forks High with a heavy heart. He had barely seen Mary Alice in school since that little outburst where he had spoken her name out loud.

He wasn't stupid. He wasn't a moron.

He knew that even though everyone knew Mary Alice's real name, you didn't use it.

She was probably humiliated. Or mad at him.

Most likely both.

One note, one letter in her locker each month for . . . what was it now . . . four years?

He snorted bitterly at the thought. _Four years. _That was closer to forty letters. None of which she had ever replied to, even though he once or twice, in acts of pure desperation, had signed with his full name.

This was the final one, he decided with a heavy heart.

_This wasn't a love letter as much as it was a goodbye._

He knew perfectly well that he was probably destined by a cruel God to love this girl until the day he died, but if she wanted peace from him, if she wanted nothing to do with him, then he would not be one to pressure her.

_No_, he decided. _This is goodbye._

"_I think I have loved you from the first day I saw you. You were so beautiful, and your eyes and your face and your glow.  
Do you know that you glow?  
You do. Like God's Light. Do you know what God's Light is?  
It's the way sun breaks through clouds and sort of 'spotlights' the earth.  
That's how you glow. It just sparkles off your skin. It makes me see you and only see light. In spite of your darkness, I only see your light.  
Your tears hurt me and the way you look at other boys makes me want to die a little. They don't see you, not like I do. I know your secrets. I know why you are afraid of the dark and why you won't let anyone near. And I swear to you that I will never tell a soul.  
I wish I could be the first man to hold your hand.  
This is the last time I will write you and bother you. I am sorry that I called you by your name. I am even sorrier that you don't call me by mine.  
Merry Christmas.  
J."_

He slipped the letter into her locker and slumped away with a heavy, broken heart once again.

An hour later, Mary Alice Brandon opened the same locker and found a white envelope addressed to "Maybe" inside. With a frown of confusion and a shrug of nonchalance, she tore it open and found Jasper Whitlock's words.

Jasper rounded a corner of the hall by the water fountain then, just in time to see Maybe drop his letter in shock and complete panic. She acted like it was the first time she had ever read a word he had written.

She looked up. Her eyes met his and color drained from both sets of faces as realization hit them.

She had, in fact, never received or read a single of his notes.

She started backing away, tripping over things on the floor as Jasper carefully tried to approach her. But when she realized that he was trying to get closer, she turned and ran.

Jasper knew better than to chase her and instead, he walked over and picked up the letter from the ground, putting it in his right hand pocket. He grabbed Mary Alice's discarded knapsack from the linoleum floor and thanked God there had been no one else in the hallway to witness their strange exchange.

His heart had been broken just an hour ago, and it still was, but he was determined to get answers this time. Before he let her go.

Neither Mary Alice nor Jasper put two and two together that day as both made their way home.

_There was one person missing in their puzzle._

Emmett McCarty was staring out the rain-covered window with a bitter taste of regret on his tongue and fear in his heart, knowing that this was the first time he was unable to hide one of Jasper Whitlock's love letters.

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**Dun dun dun!  
****(couldnt resist!)**

**Alright, assuming that you are reading this, here is the promised A/N:**  
**I have received pimpage and recommendations from a lot of people, and how this fic came to end up in the hands of you, I have not the slightest clue, but I want to say thank you so much for taking the chance and reading, for sticking with it through the drama and angst and believing in my abilities to do right by my characters and this story once it comes to an end.**  
**I am so grateful to each and every one of you for reading, for reviewing and for encouraging me in my moments of complete failure.**  
**A few special thank you`s are in order as well:**  
**To Kiks, my Danish reader – I wish dearly that I could reply to your review in person. It touched me deeply, and no – I had no problem reading the Danish part. Thank you.**  
**To Aciepey and IvyAndLime – thank you for pre-reading this sucker.**  
**To AngstGoddess003 – Thank you for kind words, every review and for the shameless pimping. I squee every time and it's hard to stay classy.**  
**To Revag – thank you for your reviews last night. They helped me write this chapter and keep faith in my abilities.**  
**I replied to every review I got for the last chapter I think… *pats herself on shoulder***  
**Finally: if you should see this fic recc'ed on a blog or somewhere, I would love it if you let me know so I can do the proper thing and thank them personally.**

Thus concludes epic A/N... feel free to review... ;)

Marie0912


	23. Chapter 23: Singer

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Hi again, readers!**

**This is so far the longest chapter of The Sound Of Your Voice, hope you don't mind;)**

**Thank you to everyone who reviews and reads and tweets me sweet nothings! You guys are the best!**

**To my Australian readers - there is a authors note at the end of this epically long chapter dedicated to you. Please take the time to read!**

**Without further ado...**

* * *

From the moment human beings are set screaming into the world, a searching quest begins. Everyone is looking for a purpose, contentment, fulfillment, and peace. Most want riches and wealth; shiny objects to adorn fireplaces and shelves so that other people can admire them. But everyone wants validation, to fit in, to achieve something and leave an imprint on the world. They want to be accepted.

Isabella Swan was not like most people.

She was happy, even as a little girl, playing by herself. Fitting in never mattered much to her. If she wanted to interact and be social, she could always converse with her parents or their friends. She didn't like the sheep mentality that defined a typical girly friendship, nor did she have enough self confidence to make male friends her own age.

In truth, she just didn't like people telling her how to act and think. She was afraid of the influence they might have on her if she let them close enough to see what lay behind her timid and mellow demeanor. She spent most of her day in a world inside her own mind where people acted, thought and spoke in a friendly, respectable, predictable way that made her feel safe.

She was never a true outsider, the way some kids are cruelly forced to be alone because of some outward or inwardly flaw. No, Isabella was just not noticed enough to become an outcast. If girls like Angie Webber or Samantha Burke sat at her table at lunch, or if Benjamin Cheney made small talk during Trigonometry, Isabella replied in a polite and friendly manner. She was sweet and just funny enough to avoid negative attention, but bland and boring enough to avoid popularity and budding, unwanted friendships.

In fact, as sad as it sounds, she was quite content observing the world and not really living in it.

Life was just something she had to go through, an obstacle in a yet unknown path. She didn't really see her monotonous way of walking the earth as a waste of time.

Until she met Edward Cullen.

Isabella had never thought of love - of loving a boy or falling in love with a man - as anything less than a pleasant and ridiculous fairytale. She had no doubt that her mother and father had fallen in love and that they were forever intertwined with each others' fates, but she just couldn't bring herself to believe that love was for everyone.

There are great odds, a good chance that, out of all the people born into the world, there are two souls for every spiritual connection out there and that they are searching for each other. But what are the chances of them finding each other?

Very small; minuscule in fact.

But, like all fairy tales, like every romance story worth remembering, love had come crashing into her life. Literally. She had dented a Volvo in the school's parking lot and there he sat, the man that was destined and designed to make her heart beat faster. He rocked her boring, safe and steady world at its foundations and breathed a miraculous will to finally live into her lungs.

That was what had happened. Her bland, boring existence and her safely constructed walls had been demolished by a giant wrecking ball in the shape of a beautiful, sad, and warm teenage boy.

On the night of December 18th, Isabella lay on top of her covers, clutching a pillow to her chest with brokenhearted tears running down her face. So many happy memories had been made this December. Her entire world had been turned on its head by a beautiful boy she was convinced she didn't deserve.

Christmas shopping had not gone as planned.

When his lovely parents let them loose at the mall, a fifty dollar bill had magically turned up in her wallet and saved the day. But as she roamed the stores with Edward Cullen's hand in hers, nothing seemed to pique his interest. He kept looking at her face and smiling, but no clothes, video games, movies, or anything seemed to draw him in.

How on earth was she supposed to find him a proper Christmas gift if he didn't seem to want anything?

In a last, rather desperate attempt to figure it out, she had fished out her phone from her purse and typed "What have you asked Santa for this Christmas?" and sent it to him. Edward had fished out his phone with a smile when he felt it vibrate. Isabella waited with an eager smile as he read what she had written.

But immediately, her smile had faltered and faded as she watched how his light green eyes darkened with pain. Of course, if such a thing as Santa existed, only one thing would be on Edward Cullen's wish list this year.

_How stupid could you get?_ she thought bitterly. She shoved her phone back in her pocket, biting her lip against the tears.

Edward saw her reaction at once and grabbed her hand, tugging lightly at it until she finally turned and faced him.

"Don't be sad. I know what you meant and . . . hmm . . ." Edward was deliberately whispering since they were in a public place. He didn't want to draw others into their conversation or make a fool out of Isabella. His own dignity had been lost long ago, he didn't care that much about people's rude staring anymore, but Isabella should not have to be embarrassed in public because of his lack of ability to keep a conversation at a normal level.

He had no idea that Isabella couldn't care less about such things as dignity and that if she had known his whispering was an act of chivalry, she would have cried for quite different reasons than she was right now.

"I don't _want _anything," Edward confessed. "Nothing material anyway. The things that I want are not objects you can buy or trade or make. . . ." He shrugged.

So the shopping trip in Seattle had not inspired her to find a gift that was sure to win over his heart. She had desperately searched for inspiration but could find nothing that made her visualize his handsome, serious face bright up with boyish joy.

It had occurred to her a little later: the perfect gift, the one thing that she could imagine Edward Cullen would want.

But she had no way of affording it. There was no way in hell.

So she cried helplessly, brokenheartedly into her pillow, one hand clutching the sheets harshly and the palm of her other hand stroking gently across the worn pages of _Little Women_. Not even her favorite book gave her comfort in the darkness.

But when Isabella Swan woke the next morning, all the troubles and obstacles she had thought so great suddenly seemed small in the warmly illuminated room that held her bed and most of her worldly possessions.

A wonderful idea occurred to her while she was gazing out the window. A smile adorned her face as she picked up her phone from the nightstand, typing a message.

At the Cullen manor, a phone on a mahogany nightstand lit up and vibrated in the shadows of a still dark bedroom where a teenage boy slept with one hand under his pillow and the other on a vibrating alarm clock that lay beside his head. It had become a force of habit for Edward Cullen. Even in his sleep he tried to hold on to some sort of independence and power over his own existence.

When he woke a few hours later to a violent vibration under his palm, his first thoughts were of a girl with very soft and warm hands that he longed to touch and hold again.

He rolled over to his side with a dreamy smile on his lips, his glowing eyes catching the light from a rare sun as it peeked through the dark curtains of his bedroom window. Edward let the fingers of his left hand trace the satin bedspread slowly as he imagined Isabella's face and skin. It was almost like touching her, he thought with a wry grin and rolled his eyes at the line of thought his mind had taken.

Something lacked, naturally. It was her essence, the distinct smell of her, the wondrous warmth she exuded, the way she had his heart leaping and galloping in his chest in a beat that composed music, _was _music, whenever she moved or smiled, whenever she was near. It felt like a sort of euphoric drug rushed through his system when he sensed her presence or thought of her. It was addicting and wonderful, the taste lingering in his thoughts long after another task occupied his mind.

The only thing he really missed, the only thing that truly lacked, was her voice.

He had begun imagining it more and more, what the cadence and flow and melody of it would be. Was it light and high pitched, or maybe a low, almost baritone? Maybe it was soft and silky, washing over him like molten velvet and liquid chocolate? Maybe it was warm and raspy, with a sassy twang in it? Perhaps she had an accent?

Oh, how he wanted to know.

In the dark of night, under satin or cotton covers or in the steam of a hot shower, he thought of what her panting breaths sounded like. What sounds did she made in the middle of ultimate ecstasy? How would his own name sound when it rolled from her pouted lips?

Something was growing hard under his covers. With the slightest tinge of blush to his cheeks, he threw back the sheets and made his way to a hot shower, determined to take care of his . . . problem.

When he was finally sated and happy, he came out of the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around his waist. Edward checked his cell phone and found a text message from a girl whose fantasy self had just spent a long time whispering incredibly dirty things to his subconscious mind.

_"Hi Edward! I hope you I'm not disturbing you or anything but I have a problem. My car has a flat tire and I desperately need to borrow a car for the day. Would you consider lending me yours? I promise to have it back to you by tomorrow. Isabella." _

_Ah_, he thought with a smile. Well, he certainly didn't need it today. He was going in for a monthly check up with his father and was sure Carlisle would be the one doing all the driving.

_"Sure thing, Bella! Could you pick it up by eleven? I am headed to the hospital with my dad." _

Moments later a reply came with: _"Absolutely. I'll be there in twenty minutes. P.S. I hate the name 'Bella.'"_Edward laughed and shook his head. "Okay, too early for pet names," he murmured and started picking out his clothes for the day.

Twenty minutes later, a police truck rolled into the Cullen's driveway. Isabella skipped out, waving to her father as she stumbled and tripped on her laces. Charlie laughed and shook his head as she made it back to her feet unharmed, backing out slowly to get a peek at whoever would open the front door when his daughter rang the doorbell.

Esme was smiling and ushering Isabella through the doorway before she had managed to press the bell all the way. She stumbled awkwardly into the warm entrance hall, blushing as she went and came face-to-face with a half dressed Edward dangling a pair of keys in front of her face. He was grinning brightly at her, and she beamed in return as she reached for his hand to take them.

Esme rolled her eyes discreetly and shook her head with a small laugh as she walked into the kitchen to leave the two of them alone, wondering if they even knew how obvious their shared affection was.

As Isabella's hand touched his, Edward took the opportunity and wrapped his hand around hers. It trapped the cold metal between their intertwined hands and heated the keys rapidly as the energy and intensity of a simple, shared moment shifted. He held her gaze and watched as she swallowed hard, feeling her palm grow moist and clammy. He saw her nibble at her lip while a blush colored her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he stepped closer still, inhaling the smell of her shampoo and body lotion and possible perfume. He leaned into the crook of her neck, his lips almost touching her ear as his hot, damp breath washed over her flushed skin, sending her heart in stuttering overdrive.

"Be safe."

It was a sensual whisper, confident in spite of him feeling no such thing. It was not a question but an outright command.

She was more than ready to comply. Nodding vigorously, she let a shaky breath warm his own neck.

It was with great effort that they finally pulled apart again, both wanting to be trapped in that moment, in that feeling and the sudden rush of confidence in the possibility that their growing affection was mutual. Edward traced the lifeline that stretched across Isabella's palm with a stubbed fingernail as she slowly slipped her hand away from his.

The intimate act caused her to gasp and shudder visibly. Edward smiled widely as she waved goodbye, tripping for the third time that morning as she attempted to walk with her back to the front door. She caught herself before she hit the ground though, and mouthed, "Later," to him with an impulsive wink of her eye that he happily returned.

"Winked? You winked at him? How old are you? It probably looked like a twitchy eye," Isabella mumbled as she shut the door behind her and made her way to the silver car that was parked further down the driveway.

The dent was deep and looked very ugly, even from a long distance. She felt guilt wash over her as she unwillingly recalled the day they first met. Paint was chipped off and deep scars marred the pretty silver.

Soon, both a silver colored Volvo and a black Mercedes were driving through the town, but with quite different destinations.

As Edward stared out the window, his thoughts, for once, were not bitter and desperate and terrified and hopeful for what the specialist had to say in today's check up. No, his thoughts were terribly distracted and of Isabella Swan's warm skin and delicious scent.

Carlisle, however, was muttering silent pleas and promises under his breath as his worried gaze kept shifting from the road to where his son was sitting. He would sacrifice anything to have him hearing again. It had become increasingly more heartbreaking to walk past the Baby Grand piano, watching his son trace along the keys and humming each note to himself as he pressed lightly down.

Carlisle knew that Edward had begun composing music again, that he heard sounds in his head that he desperately wanted to force out of that beautiful instrument, but no matter how hard he pressed down on those ivory keys, nothing came.

He could easily tell where this sudden inspiration had come from, or rather whom, and he was grateful for Isabella's influence and distraction, but he also worried about how Edward was coping and dealing with his issues. He was even more worried about the imprint Isabella Swan would leave on his son's heart.

For some people, suffering a great loss is just a hard lesson life teaches them. The pain that tears at the heart is there to remind them of the love they felt and the happiness that someone or something brought them.

But for some, suffering a great loss takes away the will to live on. While people deal with their pain in different ways, some learning and growing from it and some allowing it to make them cold and bitter, there are also those who never deal with, process, or cope with their loss and pain at all. Some grieve from the moment life punches that hollow through their hearts and never allow themselves to heal.

As Isabella drove down the wet road that crossed the borders between Forks and La Push, she was headed to see just that kind of soul.

She had known him all her life, from the moment Charlie Swan was allowed to carry his newborn daughter to the visiting room and proudly show her off. His arms had trembled as he tightened his grip on her small body and his right palm had been clammy, but gentle and light as a feather as he cradled her head to support the frail baby's neck. His dark brown eyes had twinkled with pride and tears had welled as he allowed colleagues and friends to gaze upon what, to him, was the most beautiful girl in the entire world.

There were none, though, whom he trusted to hold his precious daughter, and none who dared ask, except William Black.

When William Black reached out to touch the baby, Charlie slackened his hold on her body and passed her off to the secure cradle of his best friend's arms. At the Christening, he was granted the title of God Father and had only had her best interest in mind since that day. He was her protector and her guardian.

The gravel crackled underneath the Volvo's tires as Isabella drove up to his cabin by La Push beach. The wood was worn and the white paint fading. She turned off the engine and climbed out, gazing at the melancholy sight before her with a heavy heart.

As she walked up the driveway, she saw him sitting on his porch, his eyes directed at the ocean and his mind far, far away.

"Uncle William?" she called out uncertainly, not wanting to scare him.

He turned his head slowly and took in her form as she stood in a thick wool coat, soaked through and through by the steady drizzle.

"Isabella!" he said, warmth in his voice and what looked like half a smile on his lips. It had been a long time since she had been to visit him. "Get your butt out of the rain, girl," he ordered gruffly and pointed to the lawn chair beside him.

She walked the remaining steps swiftly and sat down, letting out a heavy breath. For a long time, William kept his eyes on the steady rush of waves and Isabella did the same. It was a soothing sight to take in, the view from this particular spot completely breathtaking, but it brought neither of them any joy.

She knew what he was thinking of as his eyes followed the rushing, ice cold water, the foam by the gravel and rocks and sand at the shoreline, each time the sour wind blew salty sea air toward them that left its essence on their tongues and lips: _Was that a part of her?_

"So, what can I do you for, baby girl?" he finally broke their mutual silence with a wry smile.

Blushing, she knew he was on to her and shook her head for his benefit, her heart warming as he let out a slow, bark-like laugh. It was a very rare gift, his laughter.

"Busted!" she grinned and observed with delight as his smile didn't fade, the way it almost always did.

"Well, Uncle, I have a really grand favor to ask you," she bit her lip and watched as his face grew serious.

"What kind of favor, Isabella? Is it something dangerous? It's not something morally corrupt, is it? Your father and I go way back and I will not have him --" he started to rant, but Isabella interrupted him before he could jump to conclusions.

"No, no! It's nothing like that! I need your help with . . . a car."

"Oh!" William visibly relaxed and then another rare smile was granted his God daughter.

"What kind of help? Izzy, if this is about that old wreck of a Chevy, I say you let nature take its course!" he joked.

But instantly, his face fell and his usually vibrant, rustic skin paled as his eyes shifted away from hers, finding the ocean and waves again. Swallowing against the lump that had formed in her throat, Isabella shook her head and cleared her voice.

"No, it's not about the Chevy, Uncle William. Its about the Volvo. You see the one right down there?" she patted his arm and pointed with a finger down to the driveway where she had parked Edward's car. His eyes lit up at the sight of it and he stretched his neck to see.

"Oh, that is a nice piece of machinery! Where the hell did you get that?" He looked from the car to her face and back to the car again, narrowing his eyes. "It's not stolen, is it? You are not asking for my assistance and involvement with Grand Theft Auto, young lady! I have told your father, over and over, that the TV shows and video games today have a bad influence---"

"No! Will you let me explain?!" she laughed.

"It's not stolen, it's borrowed and I . . . It's a Christmas gift for a friend of mine."

William Black listened patiently and without interruption as Isabella told him the tale of how she first met Edward Cullen. He watched as her eyes grew wet at the recollection of how she had crashed into his car, saw the glow of passion in her eyes as she gave him vivid details of how Emmett McCarty had struck him in the cafeteria, noted the creeping blush that bloomed in her cheeks as she described his personality and wonderful flaws and finally the sorrow as she explained about the boy's unfortunate disability.

"Music was his only passion. It was what he burned for . . . I don't know what else to give him. His world is completely silent. All he has are his eyes," she said quietly as she bit her now trembling lip. "The least I can do is make his world pretty."

Oh, how his heart clenched. What he wouldn't have given for her worries and rush of endorphins, her obsessive train of thought that always led back to one person. What he wouldn't have sacrificed to experience new love, that love, his love all over again.

"And you want me to help you with that beauty. Is that so, Isabella?" he deduced with a tight smile she misconstrued for reluctance.

"I know it's gonna cost money, Uncle. I know it's very short notice, but please! I will pay you back every dime, with interest! I just need to give him a happy Christmas," she begged in a voice constricted with unshed tears.

Holding up a hand, he shook his head. "No, don't think about the money, dear girl. I will be only too happy to help you out. I'm just an old grouch, baby."

He winked and gave her yet another tight smile. She watched as his eyes grew glassy.

"Drive it up to the shop and tell Jared to get crackin' on it. If we don't have to remove any parts, it should be done in a couple of hours," he told her, waving a dismissive hand in her direction.

Hesitating slightly, Isabella rose from her chair and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Thanks, Uncle. Thank you so, so much!" she said with deep sincerity and relief.

William Black gazed at her thoughtfully, his brown eyes finding her own and holding them for a moment before smiling very sadly, stroking her cheek.

"It's my pleasure, Izzy. Truly. But you should be aware of one thing: with you in his life, he already has all the beauty a man will ever want or need. You are one of a kind, my girl. One of a kind."

Isabella smiled warmly down at him and gave him a final peck on the cheek before she left, shaking her head a little as she went. He sensed her skepticism with a heavy heart and undid the break on his wheel chair as he heard her backing out of the driveway. With practiced moves, he made his way down the ramp by the steps of his porch and toward the homemade boardwalk that Harry Clearwater had built him. The wheels on his chair made a slight squeaky sound as he slowly rolled down the wooden planks and he made a mental note to oil them later on.

He inhaled deeply as he reached the waterfront, not even noticing how the rain was soaking through his jacket.

As if nature was paying some respect to the man approaching, the sea stilled a little, the wind calmed and the rain that had drizzled steadily turned into a light mist. Slowly, with pained eyes, he bent down to place a palm on the water surface. His eyes found the horizon and for the first time in months, he allowed himself to cry.

Sometimes, when he sat like this, his eyes blurred with tears as he watched the sea rushing to shore. He could almost see her dancing across the water surface. Her eyes had been the color of pale sapphires, almost gray when in shadow, and today the horizon matched her irises completely. It made him feel like she was watching over him.

The sea revolted then, a cold gust of wind chilling him as it brought new and powerful waves to shore. It reminded him of her unpredictable, though harmless temperament. She had been like the weather and he had loved her even more because of it.

"I know, my love, I know. She is still young. She will learn that it's not the material things that matter," he sighed.

As he made his way back up the boardwalk, the wind blew in his favor, giving him a welcomed push and support. It was her, he thought. It was her way of leading him home.

Isabella was sitting on a stack of tires in the corner of Black's Auto Body Shop, wringing her hands as Jared and Paulie worked on Edward's car. They had removed the fender and used a glue-gun technique to straighten out the ugly dent. Jared was currently sanding the scraped paint so that they could repaint it and have it dry overnight, that way Isabella would be able to have it back to Edward by the next morning.

"It looks worse than it is, Baby Bell," Paulie assured her as he watched the girl worry her lip and knot her fingers.

"Oh. Thank you for taking it on, guys. Really. I'm bringing you cupcakes the next time I come down," Isabella promised, giving both men a warm smile.

The day passed slowly as Edward's car was fixed and at five in the afternoon, Charlie Swan drove down to La Push to retrieve his daughter. On his way, he passed a black Mercedes where a teenage boy was blinking furiously as he gazed out on the nothingness, trying hard not to show his devastation.

Carlisle was making no effort to hide his grief.

No changes, no signs of improvement. The swelling was still there.

"Son of a bitch!" Edward finally screamed, slamming his fist into the dashboard.

Carlisle hit the breaks immediately and drove to the side of the road, stopping the engine.

"What are you doing?!" Edward demanded, wiping tears away with the back of his hand. "I wanna go home! Just take me home!"

He had no control over the volume in his voice. His only desire was to lock himself away and cry.

"Edward!" Carlisle placed a hand on the boy's shoulder that was quickly pushed away. Edward didn't want to be "understood" yet. He could never understand.

"No! No, leave me alone! Don't try and tell me it will be alright! Its not like I can fucking hear you anyway! Stop pretending it's not what I deserve! I did this! It's all my fault! I deserve it! But stop pretending its gonna be alright . . ." his voice had changed from screams to sobs. "I want to hear! I want to hear your voice, to hear mom's voice! I want to fucking hear the new Britney Spears album just so I can bitch and moan about how it sucks like every one else does! I want to hear my God damn piano! I want to hear _her!_ My God, I just want to hear _her!_"

It was silent for a long while after that. Carlisle simply sat, watching his boy cry and blame himself. He wanted to reach out and touch him again, to comfort him, but part of him was terrified of being pushed away. It hurt so much.

"I shouldn't have hoped . . . I thought I didn't have hope. I was just sitting here, thinking of her the entire ride . . . I was being all rational and realistic and squashing my expectations! And then . . ."

Once again, Carlisle raised his hand and reached out to touch Edward, but this time he was met halfway. Edward turned around and threw himself into his father's arms, bending awkwardly over the gearshift as he went. He wanted to cry it all out before he got home and his mother could see. He desperately needed someone to hold on to while his world crashed around him all over again as the brutal revelation that he was most likely doomed to silence for eternity sunk in.

As they finally reached the Cullen home, Charlie parked in the driveway of William Black's cottage.

Isabella was stirring a casserole when he entered the kitchen, finding his buddy in his usual spot by the table. The table was set for four as usual and it made Charlie's heart sink.

"Hiya Billy!" he greeted his old buddy with a pat on the shoulder.

Billy tried a halfhearted smile, but suddenly, anger flared in his eyes.

"Rachel sits there."

Charlie had made the mistake of trying to sit down in the wrong chair.

They ate in silence, Isabella lost in thoughts of a certain silver Volvo and imagining Edward's joy when finding it completely repaired. Charlie spent his time watching an old, broken friend pick at his food while staring at an empty seat.

It wasn't often that Charlie came down to see William Black anymore.

The one thing that had tied them together had been fishing, but since Rachel died, William wouldn't even set foot in a boat. They had been on a weekend trip, just him, William and Rachel since Renee was watching Isabella at home. Unpredictable weather had hit, waves had crashed, and the love of William Black's life had been thrown overboard. Her body had never been found and even six years later, William always set a plate for her in case she should suddenly walk through the front door hungry, tired and missing him.

It was heartbreaking to watch, and Isabella had often wondered to herself if such heartache and excruciating pain was worth living with.

William had jumped in after her, desperately swimming against the currents, and ending up getting smashed against the rocks of a nearby reef. It fractured his spine and ended up paralyzing him from the waist down.

A fate as cruel as that, no soul deserved.

They had worried though, all his friends and family, about whether or not William would even try to take care of himself with all the pain fate had served him. But they worried unnecessarily.

In his mind, William was to blame for the death of Rachel Black. If he had swam fast enough, if he had been stricter about wearing a life jacket, if he had never made her come along, she wouldn't have been lost at sea at all.

So the pain, the not knowing, the loss and hollow in his heart was something he deserved, he decided. His atonement for having a hand in her death was spending the rest of his life without her. In his heart, he hoped it would be a long one.

Still, just because he had no grave to turn to, no proof of her death, he dreamed that she would one day come home and wake him up from this horrible dream.

The next day, Charlie drove his daughter down to the workshop so she could pick up the Volvo, which now looked good as new. She drove it through the slippery roads of Forks as carefully as possible, avoiding puddles and everything that could make it look less than perfect.

Edward came to meet her in the driveway after receiving a text saying she was only five minutes away and had something for him. In his mind, he hoped she had brought his hearing with her.

Ridiculous. Bitter.

He couldn't help it.

She parked the car and climbed out with a proud grin on her lips, watching him approach slowly.

"Hi," she mouthed, smiling shyly as he finally stood before her.

His eyes looked sad and empty today, she thought with a frown.

"What is it that you have to show me?" he asked her, trying to sound enthusiastic but failing.

Isabella didn't take it personally. She reached out and grabbed his hand, watching his expression as their skin connected, feeling the soft warmth of his skin against hers. His eyes took on more life, his lips parting as he drew a surprised breath.

"Come," she mouthed and led him to the back of his car.

For a moment, he didn't know what she was showing him. The dent had been nothing to him but the memory of his first encounter with happiness in many, many months.

"You had it fixed?" he whispered, his tone of voice making Isabella's heart clench in pain.

He was upset with her.

Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't even make this right. Maybe he wanted it in another color? Maybe he could still see the slight markings around the fender where Paulie had chosen not to sand it down?

She didn't have time to jump to more conclusions or make an unnecessary apology though because the moment Edward laid eyes on her tears, he grabbed her face between his hands.

"Don't cry, Isabella. Pretty girls shouldn't cry," he whispered.

He called her pretty.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, her cheeks bloomed, and a new rush of tears came. He ran his thumbs gently under her eyes, trying to wipe them as fast as they came.

"Please don't cry. Isabella, this must have cost you a fortune!"

He was part worried and part exasperated. She shook her head and fished out her phone from her left pocket, quickly typing that her uncle owned a garage and that he helped her out. As he read it, he visibly relaxed and managed a smile as she put her phone down.

He walked over to the car then, tracing the dent that was no longer there with gentle fingers, his mind far away, his thoughts on her motivations. Why had she been so desperate to erase the mark she had left on his small world? Rationally, he could understand she was just trying to pay back her debt, but still . . . it made him feel empty.

If she ever decided she didn't want to be by his side anymore, there would be no proof left behind that she ever was.

"You didn't have to do this, Isabella," he told her with sincerity. "I was never angry. It was an accident. Thank you so much, but . . . it was never that important."

"Oh."

He could see how her face fell at his words, the great disappointment that washed over her.

"You are sad," he deduced, walking toward her again.

She swallowed and nodded as he stood close once more, his chest barely an inch from her own.

"Tell me why," he implored.

Biting her lip, she typed her reasoning into a text message and allowed him to read.

"_It was my Christmas gift to you. I couldn't think of anything else you might want. I just wanted to make your world pretty." _

He laughed a little, shaking his head as she looked up at him. He placed a finger under her chin and made her meet his eyes as he smiled a genuine smile.

"Silly girl," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her nose.

Her heart made a violent skip in her chest.

"You already make it beautiful, Isabella, just by being you."

She blushed deeply, but he could see the delight in her eyes at his compliment.

"Don't you know you make my heart sing?" he whispered, watching as her eyes widened in shock.

"I do?" she mouthed, her body trembling.

"You do," he nodded, kissing her nose again. He wanted nothing more than to dive further down and capture her lips, but chickened out.

"You are . . . my singer. My heart beats to its own rhythm, making a sort of music that . . ." He shook his head, trying to find the proper words and failing. "You are my siren, Isabella. My singer."

* * *

**Awww... I had to;)**

**To my Aussie readers from Shantelle/ aka "IvyAndLime":**

**Tickets to the Eclipse Masquerade Ball Australia in Sydney, Australia on Saturday June 26th are NOW ON SALE. There's a special offer on tickets sales until Friday May 14th - buy your tickets before then to get FREE MOVIE TICKETS to see Eclipse.**

**All proceeds from the event go to the Fandom Gives Back for Alex's Lemonade Stand. We've got an awesome night planned; character look-alikes, auctions, professional photographs, roleplay challenges, costume contests...**

**The auctions are also open to the public worldwide - check out the list of items and images on our website and email us at: eclipseballaustralia(AT)gmail (dot) com to submit your absentee vote.**

**Please help us support this amazing cause! Don't make us lose all hope in the Australian Fandom...it will make us very sad. =(**

**Love, IvyAndLime**

**So there you have it, people.**

**I would go to this event myself, but I will be in the states during Fandom Gives Back Eclipse Edition.**

**Please help me bring attention to this wonderful initiative and also help these girls out. They have taken a great risk to put together something amazing to raise money for cancer research and it would truly break my heart if they had to suffer for their generosity.**

**My non- aussie readers: I would be very greatful if you would help me bring attention to this as well.**

**Leave a review should you feel like it.**  
**Most importantly: help these wonderful girls out.**

**Marie0912**


	24. Chapter 24: Secrets

____

**Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written** **authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.**

**Hi again readers!**

I'm sorry about the late (exceptionally so) update, but I have spent the last three weeks traveling America and there simply has been no time to waste writing!

**I am still here for another few days, but I finally took some time to scribble. **

**Thank you so incredibly much for all the amazing feedback guys!  
I did a shitty job at replying to reviews this time since hotmail decided to send it all in the spam filter. I fixed the problem, I think, but way too late. **

**If you asked me a question or something you need me to reply to, please ask again in this review and I promise to try and answer you! (unless hotmail gets the better of me again!) **

**Lots of love from the Americanized Norwegian girl!**

**Thankyou so much to Syndey for her beta skills! You rock babe!**

* * *

"Tell me a secret. Tell me something that no one else knows."

Edward looked into her eyes, his stare intense, the color capturing and mesmerizing in Isabella's half-lit bedroom. For a moment, she did nothing but lick her lips absentmindedly, watching his mouth as it parted to breathe more deeply and washing her face with moist warmth every time he exhaled.

Slowly, she leaned towards him, the heat of her body penetrating the thin fabric of his t-shirt as she got closer, her face mere inches from his face, his lips... and then she reached behind his back for the discarded notepad and pencil.

While holding his eyes captive, her heart thundering in her chest, her bottom lip captured between nervous teeth, she confessed to the sheet of paper that lay in her lap. Edward broke the spell between them and looked down to read.

"_I'm afraid of the dark." _

Absorbing the words, he smiled gently. Bravely, without thinking, reached out to stroke her cheek with his index finger.

"So am I," he whispered. He had to hide a smirk of satisfaction when he realized that he had indeed whispered and not shouted. He was getting so much better at this. Sometimes, it was harder around her than anyone else because she made him so damn nervous, but Edward wanted so bad to be normal for her. As normal as he could be.

He was getting there.

She blushed and heated at his touch. It made him want to smirk even more.

"Do you sleep with a nightlight?" he whispered again and she didn't flinch. Yes, he was getting better and better. He _could_ be normal for her. He _would_ be normal for her.

She shook her head and grabbed a pen, a goofy smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"_If I did, someone would notice. And then it wouldn't be a secret anymore."_

Edward grinned. "Right you are, Isabella. Right you are."

"You know... When I lived in Chicago... before, when I was younger, I would catch fireflies before bedtime and put them in a jar and use them for a nightlight..." he blurted out, blushing as he went.

A sort of melancholic happiness settled in his chest as they shared this moment and he watched her giggle, her shoulders shaking and her eyes close, her soft hand as it covered her mouth. It ached within him when she made sounds that he desperately wanted to hear, but he took his time. He absorbed every motion she made, the delight and glow in her eyes, the shade of pink and red in her cheeks, the movement of her lips.

It still hurt, but not as much.

It was strange to think that only a few weeks earlier, if someone offered him one sound, one final sound, the last sound he would ever hear, the tie would be between his parents and his piano.

Now however... it would be her voice whispering his name. Or moaning it. Her voice would be the first choice. Her voice would be the only choice.

Isabella's laughter died out slowly, a smile remaining on her lips as she leaned toward him again, getting braver and braver, more confident now that he didn't pull back. Leaving a few inches between them, she spoke slowly, making sure he followed the movement of her lips: "Tell me a secret that no one else knows?"

Edward blushed as his eyes and mind both were momentarily distracted by the wetness and sensual movement, his imagination creating very depraved images of Isabella in his head.

"Sorry?" he choked when she raised an eyebrow at his distraction and flush.

"Tell me a secret. One that no one else knows," she begged again.

The heat that once again had risen between their bodies cooled instantly and inexplicably, Edward's eyes darkening with the only real secret he had to share. Isabella began withdrawing, fidgeting with the hair in the back of her neck as her teeth went for her lip once more. Without thinking, he grasped her hand and pulled it to his lips.

"I told you about the fireflies," he tried to smile.

"You did..." Isabella agreed, but she had still seen his reaction. She knew he was hiding something and longing to tell her.

"Not tonight," he told her in a shaky voice and kissed it gently. "I will... but not tonight."

Nodding slightly, Isabella cupped his chin in her hand and let her thumb trace his bottom lip.

"Only when you are ready, Edward," she mouthed, her breath washing his face.

He swallowed hard and watched her eyes darken with dilated pupils, mimicking the action of his own, the energy and sparks alive in the air again. The hairs on his arms stood on end and further south, something was growing firm and uncomfortable. Swallowing hard one final time, he got up off the bed and turned his back to her, discreetly adjusting his pants and hoping she didn't see.

He turned around after a moment and watched her fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater again, insecure and only eighteen years old, like him.

It was so easy to forget how young they were, both hearts old in spite of inexperience, both so wise beyond their years.

"You make my heart beat so fast, Isabella," he reminded her.

She blushed again. She was like a siren to him. She was noise, sound in his silence. _She made his heart beat so fast._

Christmas was closing in, the days seemed to rush to an end so quickly for new lovers, but tick by so incredibly slowly for new mothers, broken hearts and healing bones.

In Forks Hospital, Rosalie hung up the phone without looking at the caller ID for lord knows what time that evening. She knew who was trying to reach her.

The hands on the clock that hung on the wall both reached twelve and a tear slipped from her blue eyes as she reached inside the incubator for a tiny, frail hand she had just barely worked up the courage to touch.

Baby Boy Hale was two weeks old.

Carlisle had witnessed the first time mother and child touched. The broken, guilty sobs that escaped her body was a sound he would never forget. He did not have a habit of meddling in his patients' personal lives, but where children were concerned, his conscience took over and professionalism was thrown to the wind.

When Rosalie had gone missing from the hospital, he hadn't even thought twice about it. He had simply informed the nurses that he had to run an important errand and made his way to the parking lot and his car.

He had found her on the floor of her attic after what felt like endless, hopeless seconds of searching and his mind running wild with horrific images and possibilities of what she could have done to herself. She had been showing signs of depressions and guilt in addition to the fact that she blatantly refused to see her newborn son.

It turned out though, while he was comforting the broken girl, that she had not been neglecting or denying the life she had given. She had payed him nightly visits, something the nurses on call could confirm when he asked them.

There had to be another motivation for her refusing to take care of her baby. There were so many unanswered questions in regard to how she was even taking care of herself. She was a smart girl, that much he had gathered. As they had left the depressingly empty house she called a home, he had seen bills and opened letters on the table, signed checks and a red cross in magic marker on the bills that had been payed.

Where did the money come from? How did she support herself?

She was organized and responsible. How the hell did she end up pregnant and alone?

And who the hell was the father of her baby?

Yes, the questions seemed endless. Her tangible, consuming guilt and her refusal to even name the boy left Carlisle with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew that keeping the baby meant saying goodbye to her childhood for good. She had no one to help her out, and from what he had learned of her, she would most likely refuse his and Esme's if they offered.

The phone rang again. She was tired and crying.

Rosalie picked the cellphone up and looked at the display, letting new tears slip from her eyes as she finally answered.

"What?"

It was no more than a whisper but the nurse on call gave her the stink-eye. She gestured to the sign on the wall that said, "No Cell Phones Allowed" and then to the door.

"How is the child?" the man on the other end demanded as Rosalie rolled her eyes inwardly and got out of her chair.

"Alive," she told him curtly.

"Healthy?" the man questioned.

"As can be expected," she snapped, her thumb tracing the translucent skin of the baby's hand carefully, her heart aching as she left.

"Rosalie..." he sighed, sounding exhausted.

"Alec..." Rosalie mocked in return, not caring that she sounded like a petulant child. It was time he realized she was just that – a child. She had never felt younger or less equipped to deal with the world than when she watched Baby Boy Hale fight for his life.

"Don't do this, Rose. You knew it was going to be hard and I am sorry you were hurt and alone when it happened. You know we would have come to help out if you would have just told us... something! Anything!"

Alec lost control of his temper for a moment and had to take a minute to calm back down again. He had learned early on that screaming at her would not get him anywhere.

"Piss off, Alec. You would have snatched the brat right out of the doctors bloody palms if you had been here to 'support' me," Rosalie snapped. She headed toward the elevator, needing air.

"You know it wouldn't have gone down like that, Rosalie," he snapped right back at her, losing his patience.

"Oh, it would have gone down exactly like that, Alec. You might proclaim to be a half way decent human being, but if Janie says jump, you ask how high. She wouldn't have waited a second longer than necessary to have him shipped off to a hospital in Seattle."

A long silence followed as both tried to calm down, Rosalie having made it to the main entrance of the hospital and gulping down the cold air.

After what seemed like an eternity, Alec finally spoke.

"He doesn't belong to you, Rose," he reminded her quietly.

Rosalie hung up the phone, her knees buckling as she sank to the ground.

Just around the corner from where she sat sobbing, stood Emmett McCarty watching with a frown that soon turned darker, taking in her poorly clad body and the distinct lack of width to her stomach.

"_Oh my God_," he whispered and moved toward her before he even realized what he was doing.

Most of his peers, if seeing Emmett McCarty rush towards them with that kind of fire in his eyes, would expect a beating and run off. But Rosalie did not even blink as she saw him coming. Feeling numb to the very core, she just stared at him and thought of everything he represented, every bad memory. She didn't fear his fists. His words hurt worse than any beating ever could.

"What happened?" he demanded, crouching on the pavement beside her.

"I could ask you the same thing," she shrugged with forced indifference, tears still running down her face as she gestured to his beaten face.

"Bar fight," Emmett waved her off and slowly, carefully reached for the area where he knew life had resided.

"You didn't...?" his voice sounded strange to her, moved, fearful, even sad. _Why? _

"Didn't what?" she snapped and watched big, burly, cruel and insensitive Emmett flinch again.

"Have an... have a ..? A... you know... a..." he stuttered and pointed at her.

"Just ask the damn question, Emmett!" she shouted, tears falling freely.

"Abortion?" Rosalie heard him whisper.

He knew so little of how things like that worked.

"Well, you did tell me to, didn't you, asshole?" she snapped, her eyes wild with anger and betrayal, her heart hurting so badly.

"You had an...?" he whispered, his voice strangled with what sounded like tears. She didn't care.

"Fuck off, Emmett. You ought to be happy now. We are finally done. No baby to repeat your mistakes or reflect my ugliness. Leave me alone now. I've done you the same courtesy after all," Rosalie said in a voice that sounded hollow.

"Rosalie..."

_Was he sobbing? _She didn't turn to find out.

He had hurt her worse than anyone ever had. Humiliated her beyond any repair, soiled her reputation. In return, she had broken his heart and left a life on his conscience.

Not that he would care one bit, she thought bitterly.

_But he did. More than she could ever grasp. _

When a distraught Mary Alice came to visit him that evening, she found the door locked. Even when she begged him to let her in, he refused her.

"Go away, Maybe. I'm no good for you."

He wanted to protect her now, from himself and the selfishness that had consumed him. He loved her so much and only one man beside him in this world loved her more.

He had gone back to calling her Maybe and shutting her out again.

He broke her heart.

* * *

**Dun dun dun! **

Well, this opened a whole new can of worms, didn't it? Tee hee...!

Please leave a review. They make me giggle;)

Marie0912


	25. Still alive!

**_Hate to do this - I know it sucks._**

Hello, everybody!

Remember me? ... the girl who posted once every other day, then once every other week, then once every other month then... well, you see where I'm going.

I am so sorry about the delay. I really, truly am.

Almost two months ago, I was informed that I'd been accepted at a university in England of all places, and also that I had to move within 2 weeks.

Tada! ... So here I am.

I upped and moved from Norway and started studying, among other subjects, Creative Writing in good old England.

I am a tad... well, VERY overwhelmed right now with school-work and trying to make friends, fit in and not get run over by their cars that stupidly drives on the wrong side of the road.

I promise you that this story is far from abandoned, and this also goes for my other stories. I just don't have the time to focus on it, no matter how much I would be delighted to.

I do hope you can all find the patience and bear with me while I try to catch up, and I will slowly but certainly plot out the rest of the story and write it down :) 

**_My plan is, to finish the story completely before I start publishing new chapters - that way we can avoid this kind of situation re-occurring :) _**

**_I know the rules about posting chapters that aren't really chapters too, so I will delete this in three days and hope that is enough time for everyone to get the "update" :)_**

Once again - I am not abandoning anything, I am just very busy trying to make a name for myself :)

Love and hugs,

Marie0912  



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